


Sanctus Lux

by steelguardin



Category: Final Fantasy XII, Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fate/stay Night, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Female Friendships, Flashbacks, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Magical Bond, Past Relationship(s), Strained Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3235160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelguardin/pseuds/steelguardin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate/stay Night AU. Being chosen by the Holy Grail can be a blessing or a curse — for Serah Farron, it's both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To the victor go the spoils

When she was a child, young and naive, Serah had been honored to be chosen by the Grail, to have the chance to fight in the war and see her heart's desire become reality. Had she not been told to keep it secret, she might have shouted at the top of her lungs: _The Holy Grail is mine!_

But she had been a child. Young and naive. So, so stupid and weak.

When she entered the Church and found Hope waiting at the altar, she knew he would be disappointed. Once again she had let her heart get the better of her, and now—well, she had no choice but to fight. He had no choice but to watch. It was the duty of the overseer to observe the coming battle between Servants and mages alike, and to intervene should the worst happen. Unfortunately, the worst was to be expected.

“Serah?”

She shook her head and held up her hand. The Command Seal, flowing with fresh magic, had been burned into her skin as if it were a brand. _The Grail owns your soul now_.

Hope's expression softened. “I had a feeling you'd be back.”

“It wants me to fight again,” she answered, voice trembling. “It's been ten years, Hope.”

Ten years since the last war ended, ten years since she picked up her things and ran away from Eden. Ten years since she left without a single good-bye.

“The Church... we can provide protection once the war has begun and you've surrendered your Command Seals.” Hope offered his hand and smiled softly. “You don't have to do this, Serah. You know you don't.”

“The Farrons have always taken part in the Grail War, and I can't... drop out like that, Hope. Scared or not, I have to fight. After what happened last time, I can't stand back and watch as someone makes the same mistakes we did.” Serah balled her fists at her sides. “I will fight. I _must_ fight.”

The fire, the destruction, hundreds dying in an instant while othes left the world more slowly and painfully—it made her sick just to think about it. She remembered waking up hours after the explosion (if it could have been called that), watching the reports on the news and simply _knowing_ the Grail had something to do with it. She also knew that Hope had been there when it happened, but he couldn't remember anything about that night. He won the damn war, and he couldn't remember how he did it.

She supposed that was why he joined the Church and became the overseer for the Grail War. He also wanted to stop someone from making the same mistakes.

“There are only two Servant classes that have yet to be filled,” Hope said, interrupting her train of thought, “and I'm assuming you haven't summoned your Servant yet.”

“No. I don't even have a catalyst.”

“Perhaps you won't need one.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Hope tapped his chin lightly, gaze drifting to the side. “Well, the blood of King Farron runs through your veins. Your blood itself would act as a catalyst.”

“I'm not exactly comfortable offering my blood to the Grail, Hope.”

“But you _are_ comfortable with the idea of binding your soul to a Servant,” he replied. “I'd be more worried about that, if it were me.”

“You're not fighting this time around. I am. Are you going to help me or not?”

It was just more wishful thinking, sadly. She knew, deep down, that Hope couldn't do a single thing to help her as long as she was a Master.

“I can offer you some advice. If you were to summon a Servant from the Three Knight Classes, you would have an incredible advantage over the others. You're in luck, Serah—only Archer and Saber remain.”

“And that's why you're suggesting I try to summon my ancestor. As Saber, she'd guarantee my victory.”

Hope nodded, eyes bright despite his solemn expression. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, dragging his old Servant into the war was the last thing he wanted. But, Serah assumed, if it guaranteed a friend's victory and, most importantly, their survival—how could he refuse?

Unfortunately, she didn't consider Hope a friend anymore. It had been years since they last spoke face-to-face.

“You're a first-rate mage, Serah. You're much stronger than I was when I summoned Saber, so you...” Hope drew in a sharp breath. “You could win this. You could survive.”

“But she was _your_ Servant. What if I want to summon Assassin again? He could easily be in the Archer class, too—”

Hope lowered his eyes. “Serah... I want to be honest with you; I really do. But don't you think your best shot at winning the Grail would be to summon Saber?”

“My best shot would be to ignore everything you say. This is my fight, Hope. Not yours. I'm not summoning your old Servant just because you miss her.”

She knew she hit a nerve. Hope relaxed his hands and bowed his head in defeat, a small, quiet sigh escaping his lips. “You're right,” he said. “I'm sorry, Serah. This is your fight, and I can't help you. I can wish you luck and offer shelter should you lose your Servant, but other than that... you're on your own.”

“Then the next time we meet, it'll be after I have the Grail.”

 

* * *

 

It was a lie. Doubt still crippled her. Hope's offer had been tempting, to give up and hide away in the Church until the war was over, but she wasn't weak. The Farron blood ran through her veins, as he said, and it was that blood that told her to fight. If anything, she wanted to win the Grail herself than let someone else take it.

So that was it, then. She would summon Saber, win the Grail War... and then what? The Holy Grail was an omnipotent wish granter, and Serah didn't even have a wish this time. Ten years ago, she wanted the Grail to bring her parents back to life, but it was childish dream that would never come true. Now she was a grown woman, and she had better things to wish for, like—like...

Serah rolled onto her side and hugged a pillow to her chest. That was the problem: she didn't know what to wish for, and if she didn't have a wish, then the Grail had no reason to choose her again in the first place.

She had moved on with her life. She graduated high school, went to college, dropped out, and became a full time mage—all to catch the eye of the Magus Association. Even though they gave her a catalyst in the previous war, and mentioned that she could join them after the war, they wanted nothing to do with her. And so, after that failed, she drifted from city to city, sightseeing and all that great stuff, and it wasn't until the Command Seal appeared on her hand that she finally settled down. The moment she saw the brand she knew her life was over. At least, the life she had known.

She wanted to make a name for herself outside the Grail War, where she was the mage that _nearly_ won, and yet it hadn't mean a damn thing in the end. She was still the girl who gave up her rights as a Master, lost her Servant and ultimately the Grail. If she lost again, what else was she going to do with her life? Move on and pretend it never happened?

No, she had to fight to win. She wouldn't make the same mistakes, and she wouldn't let her feelings get the best of her. The Holy Grail was rightfully hers.

Serah rolled onto her back, letting her arms rest at her sides. It pained her to admit that Hope was right about Saber. The most powerful of all the Servant classes... If she were to summon a Heroic Spirit as strong as King Farron, victory was hers.

The real question—would her ancestor be willing to fight at her side?

They shared nothing but blood and a name. When it came to ideals and beliefs, they couldn't have been any more different. King Farron pretended to be a man all her life, just so her country would respect her. She forsook her true name, Claire, and died a man. All for _respect_. What good had it done in the end? The name “Farron” meant nothing now, even to what was left of her country. Hell, Serah hadn't even known about her ancestor until they met face-to-face. The tales of the Farron royalty had been a legend, after all.

Serah had her doubts. If she was to make a new name for herself, she had to start over. Make her own path. And to do that, she needed to summon her own Servant.

A catalyst... the artifact a mage used to summon a Heroic Spirit. As long as the Spirit had some sort of connection to an object, anything would work. If she performed the ritual when her mana was at its peak, she could summon the greatest Heroic Spirit with a simple rock. However, it would be in her best interest to use an object that had _some_ meaning.

She didn't dare go to the Association for help again. They would probably laugh upon hearing she was going to participate in the war again.

_The Farron girl again? Perhaps this time her Servant will commit suicide the instant they learn who their Master is!_

Serah clenched her bedsheets. No, she wouldn't make a fool of herself again. She had to summon Saber, and she had to win. There was no other option.

She slept fitfully that night, unable to stay asleep for more than a few hours until her mind began racing and racing again. What if she couldn't even summon a Servant? What if her Servant decided she was unsuitable as a Master and killed her? What if—

_What if I die?_

There had been cases in the past where Servants had refused to follow their Master's orders. Some could even resist the power of a Command Seal! Assassin had been a special case; he was loyal until the very end. She really shouldn't have been so surprised, considering he was famous for being loyal to only those he considered friends. The Faceless King had lived as a villain, but died a hero, and for that he was one of the more unique Heroic Spirits.

It was a shame—if the Grail hadn't taken its sweet time picking her, she might have summoned him again. But there was no point in dwelling on the past.

After making a decent sized mug of coffee, Serah spent the majority of the morning digging through boxes in her closet. Most contained old books from high school, the basic “mage in training” collection she studied nights on end when she prepared for the war. Maybe that was her downfall—she had only been a novice at the time. A very confident, very inexperienced novice.

It was almost funny how, at the time, she never questioned why the Grail chose her.

After a while, she managed to find what she was looking for: the text containing the spell to summon a Servant. It had been passed down from Farron to Farron before each Grail War, though this may have very well been the first time the same Farron participated twice. In a row.

Now that she thought about it, the Holy Grail War took place every _sixty_ years. But only ten years had passed since the last one. _Why?_ What had they done differently?

Serah ran her hands over the paper and sighed. She almost wished she had given up magic altogether. All she wanted was to get this over with, and the war hadn't even started.

“Okay. First off,” she said, tucking the paper into her coat pocket. “I need some blood.”

Typically, Masters used human blood in the summoning ritual, and most often their own. It was said to “strengthen” the bond between Master and Servant, but Serah didn't really believe it was possible. The bond depended on the strength of the mage. The stronger the mage, the more powerful the Servant. That was why Serah preferred to use animal blood, taken from chickens, wolves, deer—anything she could get her hands on.

Part of her also believed the myth that, if she used her own blood in the ritual, her life would _literally_ be tied to the life of her Servant.

Serah shuddered. She needed to focus.

“Miss Serah! Your front door was unlocked, so I took the liberty of letting myself in!”

Ah, nevermind. Her focus was already broken. Serah stood and peered into the hall, where Penelo was busy taking her shoes off at the door. Her braids were an absolute mess, stray tufts of hair sticking out in every direction, and her shoes were covered with mud. She seemed out of breat, and her cheeks were a dark shade of pink.

“Did you run here?” Serah asked. “All the way from the Church?”

“Yes!” Penelo shrugged off her coat and hung it up on the rack, then bowed slightly. “I hope I'm not bothering you. Like I said, your door was unlocked, so I—”

“I understand, Penelo. Don't worry about it. I haven't started the ritual yet, anyway. So... why exactly are you here?”

The girl beamed and puffed out her chest. “I was asked to check up on you.”

“By Hope, right?”

“Yes, he was worried about you. He said that your meeting yesterday ended on a sour note, and he was concerned that you would start taking unnecessary risks.”

Serah snorted. “What, like cheat and summon the devil?”

“N-no, of course not!” Penelo paled, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “He trusts you. But the overseer must check up on each Master before the start of the war, and he was wondering if you'd summoned your Servant yet. Believe me—he has spent a lot of time thinking about this. As a friend, he's very... very scared for you.”

“He can't play favorites, you know.”

“And he understands that, but...” Penelo looked away for a moment, then smiled again. “May I make some tea for you, Serah?”

—what?

“Uh, no, I'll make it. You go and make yourself comfortable, Penelo.”

Penelo nodded and gave another bow, then vanished into the living room. Serah had to roll her eyes. Sometimes she wished Penelo hadn't been raised by the Magus Association. At a young age, the girl had been an exceptional mage, having summoned a Servant when she was only eight years old. The Association took her in shortly afterward, and then, Serah presumed, they trained her until she could join the Church and work alongside the overseer. Now she was a meek young woman that sought only to serve others. The Association had molded her into the perfect puppet.

Considering how powerful a mage she was, it was surprising she wasn't going to participate in the Grail War again. If the Grail saw her as worthy before, why not now?

“Really, I've been told I make a very good cup of tea,” Penelo piped, suddenly standing behind Serah. She had just reached for the cupboard when Penelo spoke.

“You're a guest in my home, Penelo.”

“At least let me help?”

Serah hung her head and sighed. “Is this what Hope has you do at the Church?” she asked as she handed two mugs to Penelo. “Prepare all his meals, serve him tea when he works late at night...”

“Oh, sometimes, but he's a lot like you. He doesn't let me do all the work, and he always has to clean up. It's a little silly now that I think about it.”

“You're getting paid for this, aren't you?”

“Well, both the Association and the Church have given me a home. I feel that's payment enough.”

It was not like Serah wasn't glad Penelo had a home with the Association; she would have killed for that chance herself when she was younger. But that was it: Penelo was still so young. She didn't understand what she was capable of, or what her life could be like if she turned her back on others and thought for herself for once.

 _If she tried to be me_ , Serah realized.

Penelo joined her at the table, helping herself to the store-brand sugar cookies Serah brought out. She ate as if she had been starving herself all day, and from the look of her pale complexion and overall frail appearance, that might have been the case. She seemed sickly, now that Serah really looked at her.

“So, um... how much progress have you made?” Penelo asked. “With summoning your Servant, I mean.”

“Not much,” Serah answered. “But I'm going to summon Saber and win this war.”

“So you intend to summon your ancestor?”

 _Not a chance_ , she wanted to say, but instead settled for: “No, I think my best chance would be summon someone that doesn't have ties with another Master. She would probably swear allegiance to Hope and ditch me.”

“Oh... I guess that does make sense.”

“Don't sound so disappointed. You're not supposed to be rooting for me, anyway. The Church—”

“—must always remain neutral, so long as we want our alliance with the Magus Association to continue,” Penelo finished. “I know that. But I was just wondering if you would consider...”

Penelo fiddled with her sleeves and averted her eyes, and Serah felt dread creep into the back of her mind.

“Consider what?” she pressed.

“If you would consider summoning my old Servant. My... my brother.”

Serah's heart sank.

It wasn't just any Servant Penelo had summoned when she was a child. It was her own brother. Snow Villiers. He had died before she even had a chance to meet him, and so when she prayed for that chance, the Holy Grail answered and made her a Master. But she had been too young to fully understand her situation, and so little Penelo had truly thought her brother came back to life.

Sadly, their time together didn't last. Penelo had been whisked away by the Association—because Serah had alerted them of what she'd done. All because she wanted to get on their good side.

“Serah, please. You could even use my blood as a catalyst!” Penelo pleaded. She reached across the table and took Serah's hands in her own. “I know how much you loved him. I can see it in your eyes. You miss him, too. But listen to me and think about this! The two of you could win—together!”

“You don't know that,” Serah whispered.

“But I do! I'm not a kid anymore, Serah! You made it to the end of the war last time. You _survived_. But think about it: your bond with my brother was so strong, and you weren't even his Master.”

“In case you've forgotten, your Servant didn't make it to the end. He was stupid and got himself killed.”

“To help _you_ win,” Penelo snapped. “He kept fighting for you! If he had you as a Master, then maybe—”

“ _Enough!_ You and Hope are exactly the same, asking me to summon _your_ Servants in _my_ Grail War!” she yelled. “I don't care about what you want. This is my fight, not yours. You had your chance, and you failed. End of story.”

“But—”

“I am not going to give up my shot at the Grail just so someone else can be happy. Not again.” Serah squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her mug. “If that's the only reason you came here, then you can leave. I need to get to work.”

“What's gotten into you, Serah? Wouldn't you give anything to see him again? Everything he did... it was all for you. Don't you understand?”

Serah said nothing. After a moment, she heard Penelo stand and put her dishes away, then walk towards the door.

“I hope you find what you're looking for, Serah. Whatever happens in this war, you deserve it.”

And with that, Penelo left. Serah remained sitting at the table for quite some time, shoulders quaking and her bottom lip trembling. She shouldn't have let it get under her skin. She really shouldn't have shouted. But god _damn_ it, she wasn't going to let someone else take the Grail from her again.

Slowly, she stood and went to her bedroom, then knelt by her nightstand. She pulled the drawer open and dug around until she had her fingers around a small, crumpled bag. She sighed quietly and pulled out the necklace—a silver charm in the shape of the world, with a small ring resting around it. Serah touched it carefully, wary that the chain might snap.

She could have easily done what Penelo wanted. She had the catalyst right there, but—even if her heart wanted this, she couldn't go through with it. Not this time.

This was _her_ second chance.

 

* * *

 

Her anger fueled her to finish what she started. Catalyst or no, she had to perform the summoning tonight. Her mana was at its peak around 2 AM, and so at midnight she set out and began her preparations. She found an abandoned warehouse a few blocks away from her apartment; as long as no one was around to interrupt or disturb the ritual, everything would go as planned.

Secluded area? Check. Time? Check. Blood? She glanced at the bloody plastic bag sitting near the door. Check.

Serah hardly flinched when she dipped his fingers into the bowl of crow's blood and began to paint, carefully following the sketch in the book to make an almost exact replica of the summoning circle. Her mind word furiously as she studied the incantation, reciting the lines over and over until they felt familiar enough on her tongue.

“Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill...” Serah murmured, checking over her handiwork again. “Repeat five times, but when each is filled, destroy it. Set.”

She drew in a sharp breath, shut her eyes, and brought her hand to her chest. Already, it felt as if the magic was seeping from her veins and pouring into the blood at her feet.

“Heed my words. My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny. If you heed the Grail's call and obey my will and reason, then answer me. I hereby swear that I shall be all the good in the world... and that I shall defeat all the evil in the world.”

Pain shot through her arm, but Serah took another deep breath and continued.

“You seven heavens, clad in the three great words of power, come forth from the circle of binding... Guardian of the Scales!”

Her heart felt like it was about to burst from her chest. Serah dropped to her knees and gasped for air, just as a golden light filled the room and overwhelmed her senses. She raised her hand and squinted. That light—that brilliant light! Surely she had drawn the best card...!

Gradually the golden light faded, revealing a woman clad in tan cloth and silver armor. The tails of her scarf swayed as she stood, and she sighed as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Serah had to blink a few times as her eyes readjusted to the darkness, but she couldn't believe what she saw. That was most definitely a Servant, no doubt about it. However—

“I ask of you,” the Servant spoke, regarding Serah with cold gray eyes. “Are you my Master?”


	2. Archer class servant

Her Servant was beautiful—young in the face, but old in the eyes. She stood tall, shoulders held back and chin up, with an air of nobility about her. She regarded Serah as if she were nothing more than a mere ant, unworthy to be in her presence. And honestly—that was exactly how Serah felt. When she summoned her Servant ten years ago, she felt like she was the one in control. She was a Master.

But this time... God, this time it felt _wrong_.

The Servant's brows rose. Serah only then realized she hadn't said a thing, and now she was making a fool of herself just sitting there, gaping like a fish.

“Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, I'm your Master.”

It felt like a damn lie. By then all of her anger had dissipated, leaving the bitter taste of regret on her lips. Was this what she wanted? Was she ready to fight again? This woman was a complete stranger, and even if she swore her loyalty to Serah and Serah alone, there was no guarantee how long that loyalty would last. But there was no backing out now. She had to finish what she started.

“You seem conflicted,” the Servant noted. “Am I not what you expected, Master?”

“No! No, it's not you,” Serah replied, her words stumbling. “Though... which class are you? Saber or—”

“Archer. I am your Archer class Servant.”

Serah felt her heart drop for a second time that night. Archer. She didn't summon Saber, the most powerful class. She summoned _Archer_. She shouldn't have been so dissapointed; Archer was one of the Three Knight classes, after all. But an Archer Servant would never be as strong as a Saber. Serah had seen it first hand, when Hope's Saber had brutally defeated the Archer of the previous war.

No—this wasn't the same Archer, and it was unlikely Hope's Saber would be summoned by someone else. Things would be different this time.

“Archer...” Serah murmured, then got to her feet. Archer was about her height, she noticed. “So, what should I call you?”

“Archer is fine. My true name...” the woman sighed. “I am Ashelia B'nargin of Dalmasca. Is that name familiar to you, Master?”

—Ashelia. Yes, it _was_ familiar, and she knew she'd seen it somewhere. Dalmasca... Wasn't that—?

Wait.

_Oh no_.

Ashelia of Dalmasca, queen and wife of... of King Farron. Serah's ancestor.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Serah spat. Archer flinched. “You're... you're _her_ , aren't you? The woman who married Claire Farron, my ancestor!”

Archer pursed her lips. “You are a Farron as well?”

“Serah. My name is Serah Farron, but that's not important here. What I want to know is what kind of sick joke the Grail is playing here! My blood must have been the catalyst, and the Grail decided to be a prick and gave me you instead of my ancestor!” Serah ran a hand through her already tousled hair. “I can't believe this... I can't believe this happened to me!”

“This is no joke, Master. Surely the Grail thought you and I were a fine match.”

“Oh, sure, that might be true. I did take archery in high school.” Serah ruffled her bangs. There was no point in acting like a child about this, especially not in front of her Servant. “No, you're right. I'm sorry, Archer. I was aiming to summon Saber, that's all.”

“I see...” Archer answered. “May I speak freely, Master? Perhaps you were so adamant on not summoning your ancestor that the Grail mistook your intentions.”

Serah scoffed. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“That you did not specify which class you wanted.”

“I had no idea that was an option. It shouldn't _be_ an option, because then everyone would have the Servant they want—and knowing how mages think, we all want Saber.” Serah pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know what? Let's start over.”

Archer nodded.

“I'm Serah Farron, and yes—I am your Master,” Serah said. “And you are my Archer.”

“That I am. Your fate will henceforth be my fate. The pact is now sealed.”

Serah held out her hand, and—

Archer turned the other way.

“Right,” Serah said quietly. “Well, I guess we should get started, huh? I'm one of the last Masters to summon their Servant, so I'm sure everyone else already has some plan in mind.”

Her Servant said nothing. Things were definitely off to a _great_ start. It had only been a few minutes, and she had not only disrespected her Servant, but made a fool of herself as well. Archer seemed to care less about what Serah had to say. She wasn't even listening to her!

The Archer class was well known for its independence. They didn't require as much mana from their Masters, unlike the other classes, and they had the freedom to do as they pleased until their Master was forced to use a Command Spell. Serah looked at her hand, where her own Command Seal glowed. If she had to use one so early on...

No. She couldn't waste them.

“I suspect you want me to stand guard at our base of operations?” Archer asked as she wandered around the empty room. “You needn't worry about me straying from our goal, Master. I, too, wish for the Holy Grail. I will stand at your side, lest you betray me first.”

Serah flinched. How did she—?

“I shall only ask for your word, Master. I do not take kindly to traitors. I would have you executed if you betrayed me.”

“Aren't you making this a little personal?” Serah asked.

Archer's eyes flashed in her direction. “Oh?”

“I'm not like my ancestor. I'm really not. I mean... I don't know everything about you. I only know that you and Farron were married, and that you were forced to take the throne after she died.”

“You also know that she was no man.”

“Yeah, I... I met her in the last Grail War. She and I didn't get along very well.”

She nodded. “Did she mention me at all?”

“No. I never asked, because I never—bothered to read the rest of your guys' legend.”

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_. She should have kept her mouth shut, she should have—

“Very well,” Archer said curtly. “Perhaps it would do you some good to read the rest of my tale, before you go about making such ridiculous accusations.”

“Hey, that's not—!”

“If we are to fight in this war together, I would feel much better if you knew and understood who I was. I will take watch, Master.”

In a blink, Archer vanished from sight. Serah could still feel her presence, like a second shadow looming behind her. A silent sentinel. At least she could trust her Servant to keep an eye out for possible threats, and she didn't even have to use a Command Spell. No, she only had to offend Archer in order to get her to do her job. They really were off to a great start, weren't they?

“Archer,” Serah said, clearing her throat. “Call me Serah.”

“ _And I thought you enjoyed the sound of 'Master'..._ ”

Serah curled her fingers around her sleeves. Now that was uncalled for!

“ _I shall call you Master, and nothing else_ ,” Archer continued, “ _for you are not yet worthy of my respect._ ”

'Surely the Grail thought you and I were a fine match'—what a load of bullshit. The only thing she had in common with Archer was stubbornness. They were both stubborn and easy to piss off. Serah was ready to rip out her hair, but she needed to stay calm. If she was going to win the Grail, she needed to get along with her Servant.

Serah massaged her forehead. “Fine. Keep an eye out, Archer. I have a few things I need to do before we start.”

 

* * *

 

She went to the next town over for a drink. It was unlikely that other Masters would leave Eden, unless they were cowards trying to run from the war—but that wasn't what Serah was doing. At least, that was what she told herself. It was her last night of freedom before the Grail claimed her life again. Her soul. Every part of her belonged to the Holy Grail.

Serah absently ran her finger along the rim of her glass, listening to the constant chatter of the other patrons. That bar was packed full of people tonight, even at 3 AM; they were all caught up in the haze from the music, laughter, and booze. Serah herself went for something special—a strawberry daiquiri with an extra bit of sugar. It helped loosen the tension in her shoulders and ease her nerves, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. It wasn't like her creeper-radar was going off, but more like someone or _something_ was watching her, stalking her like prey.

She debated on contacting Archer. She really considered it, too. If someone had followed her, or if a Servant had been keeping tabs on her since she visited the Church...

“ _No one suspicious has entered this establishment, Master,_ ” came Archer's voice. “ _But I will keep watch if it troubles you._ ”

“Keep an eye out for mages,” Serah answered, keeping her own voice low. “But if you sense a Servant, tell me immediately.”

“ _I understand._ ”

Serah felt particularly drained. Summoning a Servant took a lot of her mana, and without giving herself a chance to replenish before she went out was clearly taking its toll on her abilities. Normally she had a better feel for her surroundings. She could be in a crowd of people and easily pick out all the mages, no matter how hard they tried to hide it.

She took another sip of her drink. It might have been the alcohol. Slowly, she felt herself tread the line between tipsy and _almost_ drunk. Serah wouldn't let herself get that carried away, but she did want to enjoy her last night of freedom.

 

* * *

 

It was rare that Serah woke up next to someone. She usually knew better than to stay for the awkward morning after, slipping out while her partner was asleep, but this time she got sloppy. It must have been those drinks the night before—what had she been doing out, anyway? Her mind sluggishly worked to put the pieces together, all the blurry memories of drinking and dancing with a number of partners. She had a reason for going out, a very good one... but what was it?

She rolled onto her side. Her partner, a man two years her senior, she recalled, had his head buried under an overstuffed pillow. Serah couldn't remember his face, and unfortunately for him, she didn't care. She did remember that he couldn't hold his liquor and _really_ didn't know how to properly use his mouth. In fact he was almost laughably inexperienced; it was amazing that Serah was able to finish last night.

That said, he at least was able to provide her with a temporary distraction. She reached over to shake his shoulder, but thought better of it and drew away.

The clock read 7:37 AM. If she stayed quiet and got dressed now, she could still leave the hotel room without facing the awkward aftermath of her late night escapade. Serah was about to sit up when a familiar tingle ran down her spine.

“ _Master._ ”

Serah gulped. “Archer,” she whispered. “Not now.”

The air suddenly felt so heavy. How stupid she was, to forget that she was no longer alone twenty-four-seven. Archer was her shadow now, following her every step of the way. It also meant that her Servant had seen everything the night before. _Way to make a good first impression, Serah._

“Make yourself useful if you're going to hover like this,” Serah grumbled as she staggered out of bed. “Hand me my clothes.”

Archer materialized at the foot of her bed, wordlessly kneeling to pick up the scattered pieces of clothing on the floor. She averted her eyes as Serah stepped around her, reaching for her bra and panties on the couch.

“If I may—” Archer started, but Serah immediately shushed her.

“No, you may not.”

“I was merely wondering what the purpose of...” She eyed the mess of a room, then glanced at the still sleeping man in the bed. “... this was.”

“Quick mana recharge,” Serah replied. “He's a third-rate mage.”

Archer coughed lightly and handed Serah the rest of her clothes. “Do you do this often?”

“No, but I figured I'd need to be in top shape for today. I'm going to show you around the city, so we'll be out in the open where other Masters might see us. We can't be too reckless, even if the war has just started.”

“Forgive me, but I've no need to 'see' this city. From the highest tower, I will be able to pinpoint and hit my target. A tour would be a waste of our time, Master.”

“I was planning on going out anyway, and since you're determined to follow my every move, you still have to come along.” Serah pulled her shirt on and smiled. “Think of it this way: you'll have an even bigger advantage over the other Servants. You'll have a real feel for this city.”

Archer pursed her lips. “Very well. What do you intend to do with your... friend? Shall we leave him in this embarrassing state, or perhaps...”

“I don't plan on calling him later, if that's what you're asking.”

“I've only known men to take on many lovers, not women. It was frowned upon in my time; if a woman was caught with a man other than her husband, she lost her head.”

Serah snorted as she tied her hair into a low ponytail, tucking a few stray strands behind her ear. “So what did you do for fun? You obviously never slept with your king.”

“No, nor did I take any other lovers. I was devoted to my country and my people. I had no time for such... needs.”

“Seriously? You're a virgin? What, did they call you the Holy Virgin of Dalmasca or something?”

“Is this conversation necessary, Master? What does my purity have to do with our battle?”

“Fine, fine... This is the twenty-first century, Archer. Times have changed. You won't get your head chopped off for fucking whoever you want.”

Archer's cheeks colored, but she kept her composure. “I understand that, but forgive me for taking some time to adjust. The Grail may grant me knowledge of this time, yet I find it difficult to see it for what it truly is.”

“That's why we're going out today. Our first stop will be getting you some new clothes.”

With a startled look, Archer touched her armor. “Is there... something wrong with my choice in attire?”

“If you're going to a renaissance fair, no. But where we're going, you'll stand out too much in that getup.”

Archer's shoulders slumped in defeat. “I suppose you are right. Very well,” she said as she straightened herself. “I will do as you ask, Master.”

 

* * *

 

'Master, Master Serah'. If she hadn't already been accustomed to the Master-Servant relationship, Serah would have been a bit more unnerved how Archer addressed her. What were people going to think when they overheard Archer call her 'Master'? Serah bit her tongue as she poked through her closet. Archer could probaly pretend to be Serah's 'long lost cousin' or some other distant relative, or maybe as a close friend of the family.

It wouldn't be a complete lie, anyway; Ashelia B'nargin was married to Serah's ancestor.

The Grail had a sick sense of humor. Not only did it deny her a Saber class Servant, but it gave her her ancestor's wife. Her _wife_! Even if she didn't want to summon Claire Farron, that didn't mean she wanted the next in line. But... Archer was almost as strong as Saber, and didn't require as much mana as any other Servant class.

She had to laugh. Archer wouldn't need to worry about losing her cherished purity. No mana transfers for them—thank god.

“Are you finished, Master?” Archer asked dryly.

“You know, you're gonna have to call me Serah when we're in public. It won't kill you. Yeah, sure, I haven't earned it yet, but I don't want people to get the wrong idea about us.”

“If that is what you wish.”

Serah groaned quietly. Apparently it _would_ kill her to be a little nicer.

It was a challenge to find something that would fit her, too. While Archer was shorter than Serah, she was a bit more filled out in the bust and rear. To be honest, she had no idea how old Archer was, though she looked like she was no older than twenty. Twenty-one, maybe. Old enough to rule a country, at least. She could probably pull off the “recently out of high school, not sure about college” look if she wiped that seemingly permanent scowl off her face.

Serah ended up selecting a simple white blouse, a black skirt, and a knitted gray sweater. It would have to do.

“Here, try these on. If they're too small, we can find something better while we're out.”

“Thank you.”

Archer merely stood there, almost as if she was unsure about what she was supposed to do. Serah cleared her throat and turned the other way, awkwardly gesturing towards the bathroom. “I'll be right out here if you need me,” she said.

“Very well.”

She could hear the rustling of fabric behind the door as Archer fumbled with her clothes. Serah sighed and sat at the edge of her bed, then fell back onto the blankets.

“Master, you mentioned you fought in the previous war. How long ago was it?”

“Ten years,” Serah replied. “Don't ask me how, because I have zero clue about why another war started so soon. I don't think the overseer even knows.”

“And I assume you didn't win.”

“Of course not. Things got complicated.”

“How so?”

Serah pressed her palms to her eyes. “Can we... talk about something else, Archer? Ask me anything—but not about the war. Please.”

Archer went quiet for a few seconds, but she seemed to respect Serah's wishes. “The man you bedded last night. Was he a friend?”

“No,” Serah said with a curt laugh. “He was just some guy I met in the bar. I don't like to have attachments to the people I sleep with, you know. Makes things complicated.”

“Complicated like the other war?”

Serah ignored her. “I do have friends, if that's what you're really asking.”

“Other mages?”

“A couple. I used to be on good terms with the overseer of the Grail War, actually. Hope Estheim—he won the last war with your king. We should visit him today, too. Hope was so sure I'd end up summoning my ancestor, but he's going to be so surprised to see you.”

“Is that allowed?”

“I'm not officially part of this war until Hope says so. Actually, he—”

— _offered to help me win._ Serah shook her head. No, there were things she couldn't share with Archer, and her moment of weakness was one of them. Had she accepted Hope's aid in this war, she wouldn't have won the Grail fairly, and she would have to share it with him.

As the overseer, Hope had no choice but to watch the events of the war unfold. It was all he could do: watch as Masters and Servants alike slaughtered one another. Serah believed the only reason Hope offered to help was because they both fought in the last war and survived. But in truth it was because, despite Serah not speaking to him all these years, he considered her as “family”.

He was a fool, but his heart was in the right place.

“You seem worried.”

Serah pushed herself up from the bed, putting most of her weight on her arms. Archer stood in the bathroom doorway, head tilted slightly. In her new clothes, she really did look like she belonged in this time period. The gray sweater was a little too big on her, and the way it loosely hung off her body made her look even younger than she was. Dressed like this, she was just a girl. Not a queen who was sold into an arranged marriage to someone she didn't love—she was simply a girl now.

“How does it feel?” Serah asked. Archer looked down at herself and held out her arms.

“It feels... light, like I am wearing nothing but a cloth,” she replied. “Does it suffice? I feel that it is at least presentable, but if you think it's not...”

“No, no! You look great. I'm glad it fits you.”

Archer bowed her head. “Thank you, Master. But you avoided my question. What was it that had you so deep in thought?”

“It's nothing. Just... thinking about the past, that's all,” Serah said with a sigh. “I think it just dawned on me that yesterday was my last day off for a long time. I've spent the last ten years thinking I'd never have to fight in the Grail War again, and... here I am.”

“Are you afraid?”

“I'd be an idiot if I wasn't.”

“And that is what makes you human. I would be worried abour our partnership if you had already named yourself victor of this war,” Archer replied. “Now then, shall we depart?”

“That's it? No more interrogations?”

“You said you did not want to speak of your time in the last war. I can only assume that something terrible must have happened, but I will not ask again. I shall respect your wishes.”

_Something terrible_ . Yes, of course something terrible had happened. _Many_ terrible things happened, things that would be burned in her memory until the day she died.

Something soft brushed against Serah's leg, pulling her from her troubled thoughts. She looked down to find her cat, Lulu, staring at her with big, curious eyes, purring softly as if he had no care in the world. She scooped him up and scratched his eyes, earning a happy trill in response.

“Where have you been hiding, Lulu? I feel like I haven't seen you in days.”

“I did not know you had a cat,” Archer said. “I assumed you lived alone.”

Serah did her best to ignore that jab; she could get mad later. “Yeah, he's been with me for a few years now. I found him in my hometown, Bodhum. He's the only companion I'll ever need—well, until I finally settle down.”

“You seem so certain you'll survive this war.”

“It's your job to guarantee my victory and survival, isn't it?” Serah ran her fingers through Lulu's fur, then set him on the floor and nudged him towards Archer. The cat meowed softly in greeting and rubbed against Archer's leg, but the woman didn't seem too interested in making a new friend.

“Even I cannot guarantee you will survive, but I shall do my best to bring you the Grail.”

She was obligated to say that. As a Servant, Archer had no choice but to serve her current Master. In the worst case scenario, where Serah died, Archer would find someone new to serve, or get the Grail alone. The Archer class, with their Independent Action skill, could exist on the mortal plane without a Master for days—so, without a doubt, Archer could easily find a new Master.

However, Serah hoped it wouldn't come to that.

 

* * *

 

It felt like it had been years since Serah went around Eden during the day. Usually when she went out, it was from her apartment to the bar, then to a hotel and back to her apartment. Sometimes she went to the store, sometimes she didn't. Sometimes she stayed in bed with Lulu until she remembered that she had things to do that day.

Today, the local market was lively and full of people. It was the weekly farmer's market, according to all the colorful banners hanging from the streetlights. Serah hadn't been to one since she was a child; her caretaker would buy her ice cream and sometimes a flower or two. Serah debated on buying one for Archer, but she seemed incredibly disinterested in anything Serah had to say.

“This era interests me,” Archer said as they walked down the street. “In Dalmasca, my people would gather each year like this and sells goods to one another. I often visited the marketplace myself.”

“And that interests you, because...?”

“Our eras share the same customs. Hundreds of years have passed, but not much has changed. Thus it interests me.”

“Oh...” Serah tucked her hands into her pockets. “So did, uh, your king ever go with you?”

“No, Claire was not one for social events. I fear all she cared about was defending our kingdoms, so I spent most of my time alone while she remained at the city wall. She and I did not see eye-to-eye.”

“She seemed like a frigid bitch when I met her,” Serah grumbled. “The only person she really cared about was Hope.”

“Frigid... Yes, I would have to agree with you. I cannot recall a time where she was kind to me. Our relationship was strictly for the good of our kingdoms. A marriage of conveniene. I respected her, but if you were to ask if there was any love... No. There was not.”

“Oh, so that's why you two weren't... you know.”

Archer stopped walking abruptly.

“Pardon?”

“You're still a virgin, so I guessed you two never had a wedding night. All couples do after they tie the knot... and some do it before they even get married. Like me, you know.”

“I understand what you mean, but what I don't understand is why you need to know that.”

“I was trying to make small talk.”

“And in this era, discussing intimate matters is considered small talk?”

“Between friends.”

Archer remained silent, but it was clear on her face: _we are not friends._

Claire Farron may have been a nightmare to work with, but her queen was even worse. Serah took a deep breath and took a few moments to recollect herself. She could do this. She could deal with Archer. Somehow, she could do it.

That said, she was no Assassin. Serah's previous Servant could match her wit and counter it with his own in mere seconds. He knew when she needed a laugh, and when she needed him to fight. They truly were partners. Then, of course, there was Snow—

_Don't go back there, Serah_ , she told herself. _It's been ten years. Don't go back._

Her relationships with both her Servants, those partnerships, were too personal for the Grail War. Serah vowed not to make the same mistakes, so perhaps Archer really was her ideal Servant.

“So where to next?” Serah asked. “We could find a base of operations, if that's what you think is best.”

“I need only a place where I can see the entire city. From there, I will be able to track your location and defend you when the time comes.”

She didn't even wait for Serah to respond before she vanished, leaving only a cold chill in the air. With nothing else to do, Serah decided it was to visit ope and officially join the Grail War. It took her a good half hour to get there by bus; the Church was smack dab in the middle of the city, but the building looked so worn down that most people thought it was abandoned. What they didn't know was that the Magus Association owned the building, and a few months before the Grail War began, they assigned Hope as the overseer and sent him there.

Serah hesitated as she reached for the doorknob. After their last meeting, she wondered if Hope would even let her in. He must have harbored some anger towards her after she denied his chance at seeing Saber again. And Penelo—would she forgive Serah for snapping at her?

Serah did exactly what she wanted to do: she summoned her own Servant. She wasn't out to please anyone else this time, and it was a truth Hope and Penelo would have to accept.

She opened the door and crept inside. This time she found Hope kneeling before the altar, where he had scattered rose petals and lit a single candle. She could faintly hear him speak, muttering in some foreign tongue.

“Hope.”

He stopped and rose to his feet, then turned and greeted her with a calm smile.

“I didn't except to see you again, Serah,” he said. “Have you reconsidered my offer?”

“No. Actually, you can add me to the list. Last night, I summoned my Servant. Archer.”

Oddly, he didn't seem disappointed. In fact he kept _smiling_. “I know. This morning I received a call from Saber's Master. He summoned his Servant last night as well.”

_A Servant that could have been mine_.

“I wanted to let you know that I am definitely participating,” Serah replied, keeping her arms firmly crossed at her chest. She found herself clutching her sleeves as anxiety bit at her senses. “Add me to the list, and...”

“Would you like to sit down?”

His question came as a shock, as did the concern in his voice. He wasn't supposed to care this much; the overseer of the Grail War had to remain neutral no matter what. They might have had a history, but it wasn't right for Hope to care so much.

“Hope,” Serah said again. “Just add me to the list.”

His lips parted slightly, as if it only then dawned on him why she couldn't stay. “Very well. As overseer of the Fifth Holy Grail War... I wish you luck, Serah Farron.”

She forced a smile. “You think I need it?”

“I know you, Serah. You take too many risks and rarely think about the consequences. By coming to the Church again, you might have revealed yourself to the other Masters. I'm sure they all have eyes on this building.”

“Well, I've got someone watching out for me.”

“Yes,” Hope said. “You do.”

Her heart felt like it had dropped into her stomach. _Dammit, Hope. Stop it._ She couldn't let him risk his own safety to guarantee her victory. It was exactly what she did in the previous war, when she had given up her own Servant so he could win instead. And look what happened! The Holy Grail did _something_ and destroyed part of the city. For a while she wondered if it really was Hope's fault, and that his wish had taken so many innocent lives—and that it could have been her fault as well, for giving him the Grail.

And if she let him follow her footsteps and make the same mistakes...

“Please stop trying to help me, Hope,” Serah finally choked out. “Please. If the Magus Association or any other Master catches on, who knows what they'll do to us. They could kill us, Hope. Do you want that to happen?”

“Everyone taking part in this war is putting their lives on the line, including me. I wouldn't be here if I didn't know that.”

“Your fucked up childhood must have taught you something, then.”

Hope's shoulders slumped in defeat. Serah felt a pang of pride, but it quickly fizzled into regret. How had it come to this? It was almost like she was incapable of playing nice with her friends. Or maybe that wasn't it—maybe she didn't have any friends.

“I have to go,” Serah said, turning towards the door. “Tell Penelo I'm sorry for what I said.”

“Serah, wait—”

The moment she walked out the door, she could feel Archer's presence. It came as a relief; for a moment there, Serah truly believed her Servant had already abandoned her and found a new Master.

“ _Is everything all right?_ ”

Serah bit back the urge to spill everything. All that pent up aggression and fear continued to boil inside her, and soon it would burst. It was inevitable. But she couldn't break in front of Archer, or anyone for that matter.

And so she kept quiet. Archer didn't press any further, thankfully, but Serah was sure her Servant wouldn't let it go that easily. Someday, maybe even tomorrow, she'd ask about Serah and Hope's strained relationship, the Servants from the last war—she'd want to know what happened, why it happened, and if there was anything she could do to help.

Serah snorted. No, Archer wouldn't do that.

The streets were curiously quiet. The sun had set, and the stars were only beginning to blink in the sky. But there were no cars, no people heading home after a long day of work. It was only Serah wandering down the sidewalk, with Archer somewhere closeby.

That was when she felt it. A rush of panic shooting through her veins, but Serah herself wasn't experiencing it. If it wasn't her, then that meant it was Archer—

“ _Lancer!_ ”

Serah spun around in time to see a blue blur fly right at her. She crossed her arms in front of her face and conjured a magic field around her body, but it wasn't enough to stop her attacker from knocking her off her feet. She tumbled to the ground in a crumpled heap, but Archer was quick and caught Serah before she rolled into the middle of the street.

“Dammit,” Serah hissed through her teeth. Archer helped her up, then promptly pushed her out of the way.

Serah's head spun, but she managed to focus on her surroundings. A young man, clad in blue and silver armor, and wielding dual swords, tilted his head as if waiting for them to make their next move. Archer had called him “Lancer”, which meant... this was another Servant.

“All right...” Lancer said, resting one of his swords on his shoulder. “Let's get this over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait! My motivation for this story was a bit too fleeting, and I struggled quite a lot with certain scenes. Then I wrote more than I anticipated. Go figure. It's funny how inspiration can grab you and refuse to let you go until you're done. Let's all hope I can write the next chapter a little bit more quickly!
> 
> Lulu, Serah's cat, may or may not be based on the cat from the Xillia games. Every fic needs a kitty-cat mascot.


	3. The battle is to the strong

A Servant had tracked them already—how was it possible? Serah had been so sure that Archer could blend in and walk unnoticed by even a first-rate mage, but perhaps a Servan'ts senses were much more heightened than her own. _Archer saw the attack coming_ , Serah realized, _and I didn't_. She was still weak and low on mana from the ritual, and now a Servant was going to kill her.

“So you figured out which Servant I am,” Lancer said. “I had no idea humans could be so perceptive.”

“I must admit, at first I assumed you were Assassin,” Archer replied. She spoke so formally, even to an enemy. “No true hero would attack someone when their back is turned... Only cowards would resort to such tactics. However, all Assassin class Servants specialize in Presence Concealment, so I would not have been able to see you, and you would have successfully slain my Master.”

Lancer's brows furrowed. “Did you...” He swallowed hard, and his eyes widened. “Did you just _insult_ me?”

“It was merely an observation. I shall offer you the chance to prove otherwise. Take up your sword and fight, Lancer.”

“I won't fight an unarmed woman, and besides—my fight isn't with you, Archer.” He gestured towards Serah with his sword. “I'm here for your Master's head. I'll let you live another day as long as you don't get in my way.”

“Kill her, and you also kill me. What has she done to warrant an execution?”

Serah noticed the way Lancer's fingers tightened around his weapon, but he didn't move to attack just yet. Maybe he was telling the truth, and he wasn't looking to fight Archer. His only goal was to kill Archer's Master, and in turn leave her to fade away. How long would she last without Serah? A day or two, at most.

“Mages summon us so they might acquire the Holy Grail,” Archer continued. “This war is not meant for them. We are their blades, and we must fight the battles they cannot. That is the pact I made with my Master when she summoned me.”

And she was right. Mages themselves could not hold the Holy Grail, and while they could actively participate in the war itself, their chances of surviving a battle against Servants wre slim. And so for once Serah was grateful Archer wasn't going to sit on the sidelines and wait for direct orders.

However, her life truly was in Archer's hands.

“You didn't have a choice,” Lancer retorted harshly. “Why make a pact with someone who forces you to fight in their stead?”

“I, too, have something to ask of the Grail.”

“And whatever that is, is it the same thing your Master wants?”

Archer hesitated.

“I thought so,” Lancer said with a sigh. “Typical mage... They think only for themselves. Anyone else be damned.”

“Hey, you don't know me!” Serah shouted, pushing past Archer. “Sure, some mages are self centered bastards, but that's not who I am. I only just summoned Archer yesterday, and we haven't had a chance to discuss our partnership—”

A hand touched her shoulder, as if to calm her. She turned to face Archer, but the expression that greeted her was not amiable. In fact, it looked like Archer was—

angry. Angry at _her_.

“Lancer,” Archer said, looking at him. “What makes you so certain she is like other mages?”

“The Grail handpicks all its Masters. It only chooses the strongest mages, the ones most worthy to witness its glory.” Lancer shook his head. “But it also chooses the mages with the most potential to be something great. Those mages let it get to their heads, and then they take control of their Servants... You understand what happens after that, don't you?”

“I do. They abuse their Command Seals and make their Servants act against their own will. It is a cruel fate, but... we Servants have known this from the moment the Grail chose us.”

“So why are you helping her?”

“It's as you said: I do not have a choice. If I were to act against her wishes, she could use a Command Spell on me and prevent me from any further acts of betrayal.”

Serah couldn't believe it. The way they were talking about her—it was like she wasn't even there! Then again, when it came to a battle between Servants, they often did pretend the Master wasn't around. _You would only get in my way_ , Assassin had said to her, shortly after his summoning. _Good Masters ought to stay away and out of sight_.

But she was right in the middle now. Lancer was after her, not Archer.

Lancer's Master either had no control over him, or they sent him after her in the first place. It was possible that this was their strategy, to kill the Master rather than the Servant.

“Archer,” Serah said quietly.

“Don't interrupt,” Archer snapped, casting a harsh glance over her shoulder. “I'm thinking.”

_I'm thinking?_ What was that supposed to mean?

Lancer raised his head slightly, a smirk playing at his lips. Archer faced him, and with a quiet sigh—she vanished from sight. Serah felt her Servant's presence fade almost immediately, as if she had severed their contract by will alone.

“Oh? What's this?” Lancer asked. “I didn't actually think she'd do it.”

“She... Archer! _Archer!_ ” Serah felt like a child screaming for their mother, frantically crying as others merely looked on. She could feel Lancer's eyes on her while he waited eagerly for his chance to end it. Her heart raced and theatened to beat right out of her chest. “Archer...” she whispered now, lips trembling.

“Well, mage?” Lancer took a step forward, tapping his lance against his shoulder. “This doesn't have to be hard, you know. I can end it quickly so you won't feel a thing.”

Serah balled her fists. She didn't stand a chance against a Servant in her current state. She could at least manage to block some of his attacks, if not all, but if she focused all her mana on defense—she wouldn't get anywhere. Eventually she'd run out and leave herself vulnerable.

But she had to take the chance.

Her mind scrambled to come up with the perfect plan. The Church! She was only a few blocks from there, and if she could outrun Lancer long enough, she could ask Hope for protection. The Church was neutral ground; no Servant would dare enter with their weapons drawn. As much as she hated to admit weakness, to admit her mistakes—this was her only shot.

She just had to run.

Serah turned on her heel and took off down the street, and Lancer immediately gave chase. He was faster than she thought, and even while she channeled her magic to her legs, forcing her muscles to work faster, he still managed to catch up. Servants were full of surprises, after all. Lancer slashed at her, and Serah barely ducked in time and rolled out of the way.

“You've got some guts, mages,” Lancer said with a barking laugh. “But really—this could be a lot easier for the both of us!”

She grit her teeth and quickened her pace. If she could just make it back to the Church...!

“Come on, mage! Don't be a coward!”

“My name is _Serah!_ ”

He only laughed more. Lancer really sounded like he was enjoying this; it was just another hunt for him, a game of cat and mouse. Way back when, Serah liked to think of herself as the cat, and all the other Masters and their Servants were the mice. It was fitting, as Assassin had been hers at the time.

Assassin wouldn't have abandoned her like that. He would have staye din the shadows until his target least expected an attack. He wouldn't have left her to die.

Serah dodged another blow. Lancer was right behind her, and she could feel the magical energy radiating off him. He was much stronger than she expected—what land's Heroic Spirit was he?

_Stay focused, Serah. You've got this._

She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered yet another strengthening spell, but her mana was almost spent. She could feel it in the way her muscles ached, and the way her legs began to drag even as she pushed herself further. _Keep going!_

Serah turned her head—

and fell.

Of course she hadn't been watching where she was going, but it really seemed like those stairs came out of nowhere. Serah shut her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself, curling into a tight ball. If the fall didn't kill her, Lancer would. What a stupid way to die...!

—but that death never came. In fact, she never hit the ground. Strong arms hoisted her up and wrapped around her. Serah opened her eyes, only to find that she was—flying? The wind whipped around them as her savior carried her to safety and back onto the road. But the moment her feet touched the ground again, Lancer struck.

The blow knocked the wind out of her, and Serah swore she heard a sickening snap. It took her a few seconds to recover as her vision cleared, though her legs shook too much for her to stand.

“Well, I won't deny I enjoyed this,” Lancer said, standing over her. Serah spat out some dirt and lifted her head to glare at him. “You pulled some tricks back there I've never seen.”

“Yeah?” she replied. “I'm glad you had your fill of fun, Lancer.”

“I never said I had _fun_. Believe me—I wish I didn't have to do this. But orders are orders. If you weren't a Master, I may have let you live.”

Serah shakily got to her feet and braced herself again the wall. Her ribs ached, but she'd have to push through the pain for now. “I'm not a Master anymore. My Servant ditched me.”

Lancer grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her arm up. “Yeah? You've still got the Command Seal. Servant or no Servant, the Grail still says you're a Master, mage.”

She scowled and jerked away from him, but Lancer's grip was firm.

“So did your Master tell you do to this, or did you already kill them, too?” she asked.

“I'm acting on my own.”

“You must really want the Grail, then, if you're willing to kill humans for it. I'm surprised you haven't killed the overseer and declared yourself the winner!”

Lancer snorted. “I'm not here for the Holy Grail, and I don't care if my Master wins or not. What I want is for you mages to learn a lesson.”

“And what might that be?”

He pressed the blade of his sword against her neck, tilting her head up. “Let this be a message to other Masters. Heroic Spirits aren't meant to be slaves.”

An arrow whizzed past Lancer's ear, grazing his skin enough to draw blood. He jumped away from Serah and pressed a gloved hand to his cheek, lips pulled back into a fierce snarl.

“The hell?” he spat. “Archer!”

The named Servant materialized, perching atop one of the streetlights above them. She held her bow in the most peculiar war, almost as if she were wielding a sword, while her fingertips crackled with fresh magic. And her eyes— _holy shit_ —there was an almost enchanting glint in those gray eyes of hers. Serah couldn't look away.

Archer hadn't abandoned her after all.

“I missed,” she said plainly, lowering her bow. “I was aiming for between your eyes.”

“Then you're a lousy shot,” Lancer answered. “I thought you left the mage, Archer. Did you change your mind?”

“A queen does not condemn her people for their mistakes. Rather, she vows to offer them another chance should they disappoint her. I shall do the same for you, Lancer. Leave now, and I will spare your life tonight.”

Serah slowly backed away from Lancer, but he shouldered his weapons and turned the other way.

“Winning the Grail must mean more to you than your own pride,” he said coldly. “You know as much as I do that Heroic Spirits shouldn't be taken advantage of like this. They should be the ones calling the shots, not the mages.”

“But we Heroic Spirits choose to fight. The Grail wouldn't force us into this war unless we truly desired it.” Archer frowned. “'They', you say. Are you not a Heroic Spirit, Lancer?”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on how you'd define it. But... my Master wants me to retreat now. Guess I'll see you around, Archer. I hope to fight you for real next time.”

He vanished in the blink of an eye, but a few moments passed before Archer retreated from her perch and joined Serah on the ground. Serah crossed her arms and looked away until Archer spoke.

“You did not use a Command Spell,” she said softly. “Any other Master would have done so the moment their Servant betrayed them, but you did not. Why?”

“I try not to use them without my Servant's permission,” Serah replied. Her fingers dug into her arms. “This is a partnership, isn't it? It wouldn't be right to make a decision without consulting you first.”

Archer's lips parted slightly. “I upset you.”

“Of course you did! What were you _thinking_? What kind of Servant abandons their Master in their first fight together?” Serah shouted, holding out her arms. “We're in this together, whether you like it or not. The Grail chose me to be your Master, just as it chose you to be my Servant.”

“That was not my intention. I had hoped for you to distract Lancer long enough for me to decide on a course of action.”

“So you had me play bait without _asking_ me first?”

“Would you have preferred I discuss our battle plan in front of the enemy? We had no time, Master. I simply chose to do what I thought was best in our situation.”

“I thought you abandoned me. I thought I—” _was alone again_. Serah shook her head. “Right. I guess we need to sit down and have a long chat about this war.”

“Yes. There are things we must discuss.”

 

* * *

 

The mature thing to do would have been to immediately sit down with Archer and go over what went wrong, and what they could have done better. It was probably what Archer expected of her—however, Serah instead went straight to her room and threw herself onto the bed. Lulu made a loud noise of disapproval, having been sleeping on her pillow at the time, but settled down once she reached up and stroked his chin.

“I did something stupid, Lulu,” she said and pressed her face into his fur. “Really... really stupid.”

Of course her cat wouldn't understand her, but she liked to think he did. She didn't have many friends, just the occasional one night stand that turned into a morning coffee chat, so her cat was... her only family, she supposed.

She did have friends in high school, but most of them perished in the fire ten years ago. Just another thing the Grail had taken from her the moment she chose to fight.

Lulu sniffed her head and begin to lick her hair.

“Hey! Cut that out, Lulu!” Serah whined, pushing the cat away from her face. “I'm not your kitten to groom, okay?”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Archer stood in the doorway with a tray in her hands. She'd changed back into her casual clothing, though she had the courtesy to remove her shoes in the apartment, and had taken off her sweater. Her face was twisted in a strange look of confusion, though Serah couldn't blame her. Walking in and seeing someone talking to their cat would have been a little disturbing, especially for someone who lived hundreds of years ago. As a queen that spent all her time ruling her country, she probably didn't have the time to bond with a pet.

“I, uh... Sorry,” Serah said as she sat up. “I'm just really tired.”

“You have every right to be tired. Lancer was stronger than I anticipated, and I suppose it's a miracle you held him off as long as you did.” Archer set the tray on the bed and nudged it toward Serah. Tea and... toast? Weird—she didn't even hear Archer in the kitchen. “There are more ways to restore mana. You don't have to sleep with someone, Master.”

“Thank you,” she said, gladly helping herself to some toast. “Sometimes I forget that food is almost as good as... well, you know.”

“You can say it, Master. I am no stranger to the sexual practices of mages.”

Serah chewed slowly. “Stop calling me 'Master'. Serah is fine. And I didn't mean to imply that you don't have experience with mages. I just... didn't know if you were comfortable with it or not.”

“One of the first things I saw you do was bed a stranger for his mana. I believe I didn't have a choice in the matter.”

“Sorry. Bad habit of mine, I guess.” She settled against the pillows and scooped Lulu into her arms, cradling him like a baby. “So... you said we had a lot to discuss.”

“Yes, we've yet to talk about one of the more important parts of this relationship,” Archer replied.

“What is it?”

Her obliviousness seemed to annoy Archer even more, if that were possible. “Your wish for the Holy Grail. Surely you have one?”

Oh. _Oh_.

“I haven't really given it much thought,” Serah admitted. “When the Grail chose me again, all I could think about was how I was going to survive this war. I knew I didn't have a choice, no matter what Hope told me, so I accepted it and prepared for the summoning. I...” Serah absently scratched Lulu behind his ears. “I didn't even think about a wish until now.”

“So you have nothing to ask of the Grail?”

“In the last war, all I wanted was to make a name for myself and impress the Magus Association. But now... I just want to get it over with. I'm so tired of fighting.”

Archer averted her eyes. “You didn't need the Grail to impress other mages. Surviving the war should have been enough. Most mages do not live to see beyond the ending.”

“Yeah, I guess. But what the great Association likes and dislikes doesn't matter to me anymore.”

“Then what is the true reason you desire the Grail?”

Serah closed her eyes. She was so tired, already exhausted after one battle (if it could be called that), and it wasn't because her mana was low. How much more of this could she take?

“I...” she whispered, then opened her eyes. “I just want to forget it all.”

“The war?” Archer asked. “You would ask the Grail to erase your memories?”

“No, not just that. I made a lot of mistakes, so many that after ten years... it still _hurts_.”

' _Master..._ Serah. _I'm begging you—do it for me. I'm too much of a coward to even try._ '

“I want to undo it all,” Serah continued, her voice cracking. “And then, when the Grail chooses its Master... I'll say no. I'll refuse. I want a normal life.”

Archer crossed her arms. “Our partnership has only just begun, and you wish to end it.”

“What? No, I...!” Serah abruptly sat up, and Lulu gave another agitated meow. “Archer, I didn't mean it like that.”

“By undoing this wars, you would take away my wish for the Grail. You would erase the bond you shared with your previous Servant. How can you be so selfish?”

“I didn't think—”

“You did not think at all, Master. Making such a wish would dishonor whatever sacrifices others have made for you. Do you not feel anything for them?”

“Stop putting words in my mouth, Archer!” Serah shouted. Lulu huffed irritably and jumped off the bed, retreating to the kitchen. “You asked me about my wish, and I told you how I felt. Don't lecture me for being honest.”

Archer looked the other way. “Yes, you're right. Forgive me, Master—I lost my temper. I only want to remind you that your wish will affect me just as much as it affects you. We are in this war together, not against one another. Whatever wish you make will be my wish, too.”

Right. As far as anyone knew, the Holy Grail would only grant _one_ wish. The Master and Servant needed to come to an understanding and make a wish that would satisfy both their desires. If they didn't, then everything they fought for would be for nothing.

“So... what will you ask the Grail?” Serah asked.

“You would not understand, since you know very little about me. I am much more than your ancestor's queen.”

Serah flinched. Okay, she deserved that one.

“As I said before,” Archer continued, her chin up, “surely there are books telling my story. When you've read them, then I shall share my wish with you.”

“Hey, you can't do that! You just said this was an important part of our relationship! I told you my wish, now you tell me yours. A partnership means everything goes both ways.”

“Then you have all the more reason to hurry. I suggest using that tool you call the 'internet', Master.”

Her Servant got off the bed and bowed slightly, then disappeared. Serah sighed and rolled onto her side, finally letting her exhaustion take over. Soon after, she fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

That night, she dreamed it wasn't Archer she had summoned, but Assassin. Her old Servant. Her most faithful Servant. Serah broke into a smile as the dust clouds cleared, and he rose to his feet, arms held out toward her. Though half his face was hidden by that damn mask of his, she knew it was him from the way he smiled at her and pulled her into his arms.

“Assassin,” Serah breathed. “I was hoping you'd find your way to me again!”

He chuckled against her hair. “But of course, Master. I haven't forgotten how we parted ways.”

She lowered her eyes and tightened her hold on him. “I know. I'm so... I'm so sorry, Assassin. I wish it hadn't come to that.”

“Just as I wish it hadn't come to this.”

Suddenly he felt cold in her arms, cold enough that her hair stood on end. “What do you—”

Something sharp plunged into her back. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart clenched painfully. Assassin laughed, and then, as her vision began to blur, he whispered into her ear:

“Not all is as it seems, Serah. You best understand that before it's too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I admit, I let my problems get the better of me, and I nearly gave up on this fic for a while. Some friends talked me out of it, and now I'm more than ready to get this story going! From here on out, I'll do my best to put out chapters more frequently.


	4. Face to face

“I don't see why she can't be upfront with me. Is she so proud that she can't realize that her legend isn't well known?”

Lulu stretched his paws and rolled over in Serah's lap, meowing contently. Serah scratched his ears, then went back to the laptop screen. Archer must have gone out on her own, probably to explore the city some more. Serah couldn't exactly feel her presence in the apartment, but she knew her Servant was close by, keeping an eye on Serah in her own... Archer-ish way.

Her search for Archer's life story was turning out to be a complete bust. In the legends, she was nothing more than a minor character that appeared once or twice before disappearing from the story completely. In fact, after King Farron's death, there was no mention of what happened to Ashelia. It was as if Ashelia B'nargin didn't have a purpose outside of being the King's wife. It was almost like she had played no part in the alliance between their countries, even though she was the sole heir to the Dalmascan throne.

Farron was a military tactian, so she had taken command over both their armies once she and Ashelia wed. Serah wondered how she must have felt at that moment, as she became nothing more than a trophy wife to a cold, but selfless king. Was that why she resented Serah so much, because she shared the same blood as Claire Farron?

“Master?”

Archer materialized at her side, then sat down on the bed.

“Ah, Archer. I was just reading up on your legend,” Serah said, waving toward the computer screen. “I was right. There's not a whole lot about you specifically. It _is_ King Farron's legend, after all.”

“I presumed as much. Anyone, aside from our close companions, knew that I was much more than her queen. Claire taught me how to fight, so that I may defend myself if the time came.” Archer smiled fondly. “In return, I offered my knowledge of magick. We never did finish our lessons... She often told me that magecraft was not the way of the king.”

Serah stroked Lulu's fur absently. “You know how to use magick?”

“Yes. This may come as a surprise to you, but I am just as qualified for the Caster class as I am for Archer and Saber.”

“Oh...” Serah nodded, then frowned. “Wait, you could have been a Saber?”

“As I said, Claire taught me how to fight. She was a great swordsman, and I was honored to have her as my teacher,” Archer replied. “However, the Grail chose me as its Archer for this war. I must admit that I, too, was disappointed, but...”

“There's a reason for everything the Grail does?”

Archer nodded. “I can use a sword, if need be.”

“An Archer that uses a sword? It'll fool other Servants, and give us an advantage against them. Thank you for telling me this, Archer.”

“You are welcome. I am also sorry that my story is not so widely known. Perhaps, in time, I shall tell you more?”

“I'd like that. Whenever you're ready, Archer, I'll be there to listen.”

Archer stood and walked to the window, touching the glass.

“I understand this apartment isn't ideal for a stronghold, but until we can find someplace else, it will have to do,” Serah said. “I've got that warehouse by the docks. You know, where I summoned you.”

“We are in plain sight, yes, but it is better than holing ourselves up underground,” Archer replied. “It will suffice for the time being. I can watch for enemy Servants from the rooftop.”

“Do you think Lancer will be back?”

Archer shook her head. “Though he and I have unfinished business, I know he will not strike again so soon.”

“Unfinished business?”

“I wish to know why he does not think of himself as a Heroic Spirit. He knows battle well, and he understands some concept of honor, but he has almost no pride in his abilities—or himself, for that matter.”

Serah leaned forward. “So he intrigues you.”

“As a Heroic Spirit myself, I feel that I cannot understand his point of view.” She sighed. “I want to know why he seeks to kill only Masters and other mages.”

“Maybe he was hurt by a mage in his lifetime. Some people can hold grudges for a very long time, even after death.”

“No, it did not seem that way. He was almost insulted when I chose to stay with you, like the very thought of a mage controlling a Servant—”

“Ticked him off,” Serah finished. “For being so obsessed with freeing Heroic Spirits, he should have been okay with your decision. You made your choice, and he should have respected it.”

“There must be more to it. However, Lancer is the least of our worries. We ought to focus on our other enemies first.”

There were still five other Servants out there, and none of them had made a move. The other Masters had completed the summoning ritual long before Serah, so that had at least a few days headstart in the war. So in order to find her enemies, she needed to think like them.

She needed to think like a mage.

“They must have sent familiars to watch the Church,” Serah said. “That's how Lancer found us so quickly. His Master saw me leave and ordered him to attack.”

Or maybe she should have concealed herself better. Visiting Hope was a mistake; she should have called him, not met him face to face. While he wasn't entirely faultless, having offered to help her win, Hope was still the overseer—which unfortunately made him a target as well. After all, Serah couldn't forget what happened to his predecessor.

“You seem to speak from experience.”

“Kind of. I didn't need familiars in the last war because I had Assassin. He was able to follow Servants without being detected, and that's how I was eventually able to meet with Hope and his Saber. Other Masters might have the same idea.”

Thankfully, Archer didn't try to patronize her. “I fear you may be right. We'll need to be cautious when we're in the public eye. I wouldn't put it past a Caster to possess innocent bystanders just to track their enemies.”

Innocent bystanders... like Penelo. If anyone had seen her visit the apartment, or if they knew she used to be a Master...

Serah abruptly stood and went to the doorway, already pulling on her jacket and shoes.

“Is something wrong?” Archer asked.

“The Church is neutral ground,” Serah said, but it was more for herself than Archer. “No one would try anything there.”

“I'm afraid you've lost me.”

“It's nothing. Let's do another sweep of the city. I'm trusting you to have my back, Archer.”

“Shall I accompany you this time?” Archer asked, joining her at the door. “Or would you rather I watch from afar?”

Serah paused as she reached for the doorknob. “You're asking me?”

“We just talked about my skills, did we not? Either I can offer support from afar, or I can fight at your side. Which do you prefer?”

“Well... Stay close, but out of sight.”

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately for Serah, Archer didn't follow orders. Not exactly, at least. They may have come to an understanding, and she may have _somehow_ earned an ounce of Archer's respect, but it didn't mean she had complete authority over her Servant just yet. And so, Archer chose to stay in her physical form and remain at Serah's side.

To non-mages, they were nothing more than two women sitting in a bookstore, enjoying their drinks and chatting. But to another mage, who could probably sense the excess mana coming from Serah, they were Master and Servant... enjoying their drinks and chatting.

While this wasn't the plan she had in mind for the day, it was better than hiding out in her apartment, waiting for their next enemy to make an appearance. They were also safe in the public eye. The Church and the Magus Association worked together to prevent any civilian casualities, and so it was an unspoken rule between Masters to not involve the innocent.

Of course, the same couldn't be said for Servants. Caster class Servants typically drained mana from anyone they could get their hands on, and Servants working alone would even devour souls to keep themselves alive.

“What is this drink?” Archer asked after taking a sip from her cup. “It tastes... sweet, but a little bitter.”

“It's coffee. I asked for an extra spoonful of sugar in case you didn't like the bitterness.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Archer went quiet for a moment, then looked up from her drink. “Serah, you seem ill at ease.”

“Huh?” Serah had only then noticed the way her fingers clenched her own cup, and how she hunched over the table as if she were cold. “Sorry. I had a rough night.”

“You were tossing and turning for most of the night.”

“Bad dreams. It happens.”

_It happens_. That was her excuse for most things these days. Had a bad day? _It happens._ Lose all control of your life in one night? _It happens a lot_. Serah had grown used to life throwing bad things her way, so much that it became her new normal.

“I don't really want to talk about it,” Serah said. “Everyone has nightmares when they're stressed out. It's not that big of a deal.”

“They say that Masters catch glimpses of their Servant's past in their dreams. Was that what kept you awake?”

“No, it was something different. It's fine, Archer. I'll be fine.”

“If that is what you believe.”

They fell silent, listening to the other patrons talk over their drinks, sharing their stories with their friends. Serah glanced around the cafe, gaze drifting from face to face—an older woman scolded her daughter for spilling coffee on the floor, and a man sat down at the table next to them, his face hidden behind a book. A group of teenagers wandered in and claimed the booth in the back, talking loud enough that Serah could hear every bit of their conversation.

“You asked me to call you Serah in public,” Archer said, resting her hands on the table. “So I must ask that you address me as Ashelia as well.”

“That's a mouthful, though. Don't you have a nickname?”

“My... close friends called me Ashe. I suppose you may call me that, if you must.”

“Ashe. It's a nice name.” Serah ran her fingers along the rim of her cup. “Did Claire call you that?”

“Yes, and in turn she asked that I call her 'Lightning'. We may not have spoken much, but we at least respected each other enough to be on a first-name basis.”

Huh, so that was why Hope called Saber “Light”. She'd always wondered...

“It's not true, is it? The stories make you sound like a trophy wife whose only purpose was to sit next to her king and look pretty. If you're a Heroic Spirit, then you obviously did _something_ good in your life to impress the Grail.”

“I was a queen that loved her kingdom above all else. There is nothing heroic about that.”

“But you know how to fight. You never fought in any battles with your king?”

Archer shook her head. “No, I was not much of a tactician. My duty was to my people, not war. While she went off to fight her battles, I stayed behind and led our kingdoms in her absence. The kingdoms of Dalmasca and Valhalla grew to love me more than their king.”

“Oh... I bet she wasn't happy about that.” Serah found herself smiling anyway. “You probably could have ruled on your own, I bet.”

“My own country, perhaps, but not both.”

It didn't make much sense to Serah. If the people loved her, wouldn't that have made her a great ruler? She had their respect, their love... Wasn't that enough? Then again, Serah had no right to judge Archer. She wasn't royalty, even if royal blood ran through her veins.

“Wait,” Serah realized, “if I'm her descendant... that means she had kids at some point. But you were both women, so...” She leaned forward slightly and asked in a low voice, “We're not related, are we?”

“No, no,” Archer replied. Her eyes went wide. “That is why I was so surprised to hear you were her descendant. I did not know that she bedded others. We were apart for so long, how could I have known?”

Archer may have masked her pain well, but the look in her eyes screamed _hurt_.

“I guess since you two weren't in love or anything, she did whatever she wanted,” Serah said with a scoff. “Honorable king, my ass.”

“Serah, please. I'd rather you not speak of her like that. She made her own choices just as I made mine.”

Serah rolled her eyes. “Okay, if that's what you want.”

“Let us discuss the war, Serah. Is that not what we came here to do?”

“Right. The war.” Yet Serah wondered: how was she supposed to fight with Archer if neither of them were willing to discuss anything personal? She couldn't trust someone she barely knew, and Archer must have felt the same. “What do you propose we do about Lancer?”

“He may not be our biggest threat, but he will be a challenge to defeat.” Archer took a sip of her drink, her pinky raised slightly. “Lancer intrigues me, so I would like the chance to speak with him, but if he seeks only to kill you, then I will have no choice but to retaliate.”

Serah drummed her fingers on the table, glancing around the tables again. “So what do you want to do?”

“I want to know the real reason he wants to free Servants from their Masters. There is more than he's willing to share, I'm sure. When we face each other again, I will demand he explain himself.”

“Uh huh... I'm not sure he'll be in a talkative mood, Arch—er, Ashe.”

“If he has an ounce of honor within his bones, he will surely respect a queen's wishes.”

“Okay... what then?”

Archer pressed her lips into a thin line. “Then we will continue our fight. This is a war, Serah, but not all battles are fought with swords. You must be willing to see your enemy's side of things before you can truly call them your foe.”

“I... don't really get where you're coming from. So you're saying we can't call Lancer an enemy because we don't know what he's really after?”

“Precisely. While we are against everyone in this war, as we all want the Grail, we cannot assume all of them are out for blood. Some may want to negotiate a surrender or even an alliance.”

Serah gaped at her. “Lancer tried to _kill me_ , and you want to see if he'll fight with us?”

“I will give each Servant a chance to speak before I draw my weapon. If they seek a battle, I will fight. If not, I will hear them out and judge their intentions, and from there we can either work with them, or against them.”

“But...” Serah groaned. “I'm willing to bet that nearly all of the Servants want our heads on a spike. Most mages are ruthless when it comes to the Grail. They'll do anything to get it. This isn't a war where we can negotiate with the enemy! They want us dead!”

“Lower your voice, Serah,” Archer warned. “This is how I intend to _start_ my battles. I must know my enemy before I strike them down.”

Serah bit her lip. Lancer wanted her dead, and yet her own Servant was going to give him the benefit of the doubt—!

“No, no, no, that won't work at all!”

The man sitting at the other table shut his book and tossed it aside, then turned to face them. Serah felt her heart stutter, and her jaw dropped. The tawny complexion, dark eyes that seemed to look right through her—

The same face that greeted her ten years ago, after the summoning ritual.

“If you intend on revealing your enemy's weakness, you can't barge into battle and make such ridiculous demands. You'll never find out who they are unless you catch them unawares. Honestly, you are hopeless without me, Serah.”

“I—Assassin?”

He placed a hand to his chest and bowed his head. “I'm honored. You haven't forgotten me.”

“How could I?” Serah whispered, voice wavering. “I... I can't believe it. H-how? How are you here?”

“I answered the Grail's call again, how else?”

“She meant _here_ ,” Archer interrupted. “Do you intend to attack us in front of so many civilians? How bold of you. I expected you to hide in the shadows, not in plain sight.”

Assassin laughed, waving a decorated hand at her. “I am no common assassin, Archer! Besides, I enjoy mingling with the crowd every now and then. It reminds me of when I was alive.”

Serah couldn't focus; she rubbed her head and held onto the table. “How did you find me?” she asked, and motioned for Archer to sit back. There was no point in being hostile when they were safe in the public eye.

“Lancer wasn't the only Servant keeping an eye on the Church. Quite a few of us saw that show of yours,” he answered. “It was entertaining, to be sure, but I couldn't let you die before the war even began. Not before I had a chance to speak with you.”

“You were there last night?” Archer cut in. “Of course—you saved her when she fell. I couldn't sense you at all.”

“One of my many, many skills. I believe thanks are in order? If it weren't for me, you'd be without a Master, or perhaps you may have met your own end at Lancer's blade.”

“You underestimate me, Assassin! Had you not intervened, I would have been able to defeat Lancer right then and there. You distracted me long enough to lose my target.”

Assassin smirked. “Is that so? I'm flattered you took such notice.”

Archer's nostrils flared, and she stood so abruptly that her chair slammed against the wall, not only startling Serah, but the other patrons as well. Assassin, however, didn't even flinch.

“We ought to take this elsewhere,” Archer hissed.

“If the lady insists...”

Serah found her voice again, though it took a great effort to stop herself from stammering too much. “Meet us where the last war ended. The site of the explosion.”

Assassin bowed his head once, then swiftly got up and left, not even sparing Archer or Serah a second glance. After a moment, Archer settled back into her seat and faced Serah, her lips pulled back into a frown.

“Serah, is this wise? To align with your old Servant... How can you trust him so easily?” she asked.

“I didn't really have a chance to think about it,” Serah answered. “He cornered us—surrounded by this many innocents, he knew we wouldn't strike against him. He wanted to talk with us first, without either of us making any threats. If he was really our enemy, he would have let Lancer kill me.”

“I cannot help but feel you are letting your feelings cloud your judgment, Serah. The past is the past. What's done is done. Whatever unfinished business you have with this Servant, I suggest you forget it all together. In the end, only one Servant can hold the Grail.”

Serah nodded. “I understand, Archer. But we should at least hear him out.”

“If you must. I will not stand in your way.”

 

* * *

 

According to the public, a gas explosion had caused the fire ten years ago. Something had “gone wrong” below the surface, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of people. At least, that was how the Association chose to explain it. They, and the Church, always handled the aftermath of the Grail War, covering up the mistakes of mages and protecting the innocent from the truth.

What was left of the site became a memorial for those that died that night. Serah herself had only been there once to pay her respects, a week after she was released from the hospital. At the time they weren't allowed to visit the site itself, but even a hundred feet away she could feel the residual mana the Grail left behind.

Now—she could feel _something_ , but whether it was from the Grail back then or the Grail now, she wasn't sure.

People still left flowers for their lost loved ones, though most of the graves were covered with vines, moss, and overgrown trees. Serah kept her eyes forward as she walked down the path, while Archer led the way. They found Assassin waiting for them by the pond, tossing bread crumbs to ducks and pigeons.

“Assassin,” Serah began to say, but he shook his head.

“I'd rather you call me by my true name, Serah. We're certainly past formalities by now, aren't we?”

“I—I guess we are. Balthier.”

Balthier Bunansa—known as the Faceless King, an assassin that lived as a villain, but died a hero. It wasn't uncommon for a Heroic Spirit to earn that title when they died, but for a man that _thrived_ on killing others for so long? No wonder Archer wasn't so willing to work alongside him. Serah supposed that, even though she trusted Assassin ( _Balthier_ , she remembered), Archer was entitled to be a little—well, _bothered_ by this.

And although she wouldn't admit it, Serah herself wasn't sure if this was a good idea. Ten years was a long time, and she and Balthier didn't exactly part ways on a happy note.

Still, he _seemed_ to be friendly, but it could have been a front. He knew her well—well enough to understand not only her strengths, but her weaknesses. Balthier knew exactly how to play her in order to get what he wanted.

“Balthier,” Archer murmured, crossing her arms. “The Faceless King of Archades. The Holy Grail named _you_ a Heroic Spirit?”

“You'd be surprised to learn that not every hero chosen by the Grail is... well, a hero. This is your first war, isn't it, Archer?” Balthier asked, tilting his head back to look at her.

“Yes, but I understand enough to know that the Grail does not choose just anyone. You may have died for a noble cause, but that alone does not erase a lifetime of manslaughter.”

Balthier nodded and laughed. “So you dare imply the Grail is wrong?”

“I... am merely suggesting that it may have made a mistake. Perhaps you can prove me otherwise?”

“I do like a challenge.”

Serah sighed deeply. “Archer, if you don't mind... May I talk with him alone?”

Her Servant looked like she wanted to protest, and Serah could hear her now. _He could kill you, Master. Are you that stupid to let your feelings blind you?_ That was probably what Archer was thinking at that moment, but she didn't say anything, thankfully. She only nodded and disappeared from Serah's side.

Balthier seemed disappointed about Archer's departure, the way his eyes lost a bit of their luster, but his expression remained unchanged. He smiled at Serah and motioned for her to sit beside him.

“Sit, sit. It's time we had a nice chat, Serah.”

“You're being friendly,” Serah said as she sat down. Balthier tilted his head back slightly, brows arched. “I thought you wouldn't remember me.”

“Ah, yes—it is true that some Servants cannot recall the other times they've been summoned, but I suppose it doesn't apply to all of us. Perhaps I am a special case.” Balthier scratched at the back of his head. “I, too, believed that I'd return without my memories of the last war, but as you can see... I remember everything.”

“Everything, huh...”

“Tell me, Serah. What became of the Grail?”

Serah shoved her hands into her pockets. “I don't know. Hope, Saber and I were there when it was summoned, but... Something went wrong. Hope won the war, but his wish—I think his wish killed all those people.”

“Yet you survived.”

“Somehow. When I woke up, Saber was gone, and Hope couldn't remember what happened. I guess we'll never know what happened, but... what I do know is that I can't let it happen again.” Serah shook her head. “I don't want to fight again, but if I have to, I don't want to make the same mistakes. The Holy Grail is rightfully mine.”

“We could have won it last time, but I don't believe giving it to the boy and Saber was a mistake.”

“If we won the Grail, all those people wouldn't have died.”

“Says the little girl that had no wish to be granted.”

Serah looked the other way. Yes, the little girl who wanted nothing more than to be accepted by other mages and praised for her hard work. She wanted to prove herself to anyone who doubted her, and instead she made herself look weak. _Giving up the Holy Grail was a mistake_.

Unlike before, she had a goal in mind. She had a wish for the Grail. She wanted to erase her past mistakes, and make a better life for herself. She wanted to live without fear stuck in the back of her mind. She just wanted to _live_.

“I don't have much of a wish now,” Serah said, a smile tugging at her lips. “In fact you'll probably berate me like Archer did. She said I needed a wish that meant something to the both of us, not just me.”

“It is something to consider, Serah. Whatever you ask of the Grail, it ought to be something both you and your Servant want.”

Serah frowned. “And what about you, Balthier? You wouldn't have been summoned if you didn't want something, too.”

“Isn't it obvious? I wanted a second chance with you. As I said, I was never satisfied with the way it ended between us. If you'd have me, I would fight at your side once more.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“I would have killed you and your Servant already if I didn't.”

She wanted to believe him. Serah wanted to believe that she knew Balthier well enough, and that they trusted each other enough that he wouldn't have a heel-face-turn and betray her. But...

“Not all is as it seems, Serah. There is... something amiss with this war, but I've yet to figure out what. I believe that siding with you is my best course of action, and having another Servant at your disposal is quite the advantage. Your Archer likely agrees with me, as stubborn as she is.”

_Not all is as it seems._ Serah felt her heart drop. Balthier said the same thing in her dream last night.

“Yes, you are correct,” Archer said, materializing before them. “However, I have many questions for you, Assassin. If we are to fight together, then we must come to an understanding.”

“And what might that be?” Balthier asked.

“Our Master's safety is our foremost priority. Should any harm come to her under your watch, I will hold you responsible.”

“Naturally.”

“Should she die under your watch, I will personally see to your execution.”

Balthier's smirk faltered. “I've never heard of a queen that carries out executions herself.”

“Finally,” Archer continued, ignoring him, “before we form an alliance, I must know—who defeated you in the last war? I know of your story, Faceless King, but not your weaknesses.”

“Did the Grail not tell you? My weakness is loyalty, Archer. Loyalty to those I consider allies. In life, I went to my execution with a smile on my face because my partner was still alive. Because I saved her. Had I left her to die, I wouldn't be a Heroic Spirit.”

“So you understand that Serah must come first.”

“She was my priority in the last war, and she still is.”

Serah's cheeks burned. What was it with Servants always talking about her as if she wasn't sitting right there? She expected it from Archer, given that she had a one track mind, and was far too determined to think about anything else than the war. But Balthier? This wasn't how she remembered him.

“Has Serah not told you? In the last war, we chose to give up the Grail to someone more deserving. Unfortunately, to do that, Serah had to lose her Servant.” Balthier was no longer smirking, and even though he tried to mask his feelings, even Serah could hear the regret in his voice. “So I took my own life, by order of Serah's Command Spells.”

“What?” Archer looked absolutely horrified. She brought her hand to her chest, placing it over her heart, then looked at Serah. “Master, is this true?”

It must have been a fear lingering in Archer's mind; in fact, all Servants were likely afraid of their Masters abusing the power of the Command Seal. To be ordered to commit suicide, of all things, and have no choice in the matter was the worst way to die.

“It was our decision,” Serah said. “Both of us realized that Saber and Hope deserved the Grail more than we did, so... We did what we had to do.”

“I asked her to do it. I may be loyal, Archer, but I am a coward at heart. A coward that can face the noose with a smile, but cannot take his own life.” Balthier reached over and touched Serah's shoulder, grasping it tightly. “She used a Command Spell because I couldn't do it myself.”

Archer's gaze flickered between them. “You had the Grail within your grasp, and you gave it to someone else. Someone you deemed more worthy.”

“It was either that, or give it to the demon Caster,” Balthier answered. “Your king had proved herself to be a noble woman, so I trusted her to do the right thing with the Grail. I see now, looking upon this miserable wasteland, that it may have been a mistake.”

Serah looked down at her hands as they trembled. “I won't give up the Holy Grail this time. If I could... I would at least erase the damage it did ten years ago.”

“Then Archer and I will do our best to see that you do get it,” Balthier told her, giving her shoulder another squeeze. “Isn't that right, Archer?”

Archer nodded. “Yes. We will see this war to the end. I shall bring you the Grail, Master, and—”

She suddenly went stiff, her eyes wide and fingers clenched at her sides. Archer whipped around as if to face someone that wasn't there, while both Serah and Balthier sat there, waiting for her to speak. Serah sat up a bit, reaching for Archer's arm.

“Archer?”

“Master,” she said quietly. “It's another Servant. They're... calling to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh... let's just say Nano kicked my butt for a while (but I did hit the goal!), and I ended up essentially rewriting the first three chapters of this fic. Take a look, because I edited quite a lot, tweaked some things, and likely added some new scenes here and there.
> 
> I am going to be trying to make a schedule for this fic; but I won't make promises, since I kinda suck at keeping them. But I'll try.
> 
> Anyway, feedback is much appreciated!


	5. Far away from you

Serah's heart was racing, but not from fear. No, it had just dawned on her that _this_ – this was the beginning of her Holy Grail War. She had not one, but two Servants on her side! The battle with Lancer, if it could even be called a battle, was nothing but a warm-up. A test. They hadn't taken him seriously enough to consider it a serious fight.

Now they had a plan – rather, Archer had a plan.

“Assassin, you'll watch my battle from afar,” Archer said, her voice stern. “You will not intervene unless my Master commands it, and she will not do so until I ask for your aid.”

“Is that so?” Balthier murmured, crossing his arms. “If that's what Serah wants, I'll do as you ask. But you should know I don't respond well to orders. There's a reason the mage that summoned me is no longer on the mortal plane.”

Archer's eyes flashed in his direction. “Is that a threat, Assassin?”

“Only a reminder of my skillset, dear Archer. This war would move faster if you acted as the distraction, and I be the one the defeat our foes. I'm more capable than you think.”

“And let our fellow Heroic Spirits die so dishonorably? I think not. I shall face our foes and judge whether they are worthy first, but should they make any attempts on my Master's life—then yes, Assassin, you will be the one to end it.”

Serah fidgeted on the bench. She wanted nothing more than to interrupt them, to remind that she was more than just a container for their mana, but she also didn't want to lose any more of Archer's respect. When it came to the war itself, it was better to let the Servant decide how each battle should go. Serah would offer her support from the sidelines, at least. She wasn't about to let Archer go into her battles alone.

Then again, she wasn't going to be alone as long as Assassin was there to watch her back. Still, it felt wrong to leave her Servant to fend for herself when the least Serah could do was offer any extra mana she might need.

“You are far too proud, your Majesty,” Balthier quipped. “All this talk of honor and respect... I doubt that our enemies share your mentality. We're all in this for the Grail, and even the most honorable knight will kill his enemies without a second thought if it means he'll come out victorious. You'd best learn that.”

“Do not speak to me as if I am a child! I know war, more so than either of you.” Archer closed her eyes for a moment, taking a slow, deep breath. “Know this, Assassin: although I will hear your words, I cannot and will not resort to _murder_ just so I may hold the Grail. It is—”

“Stop it! Just figure out a plan so we can get moving!” Serah shouted, standing between them. “That Servant is challenging Archer, not you, Balthier. If you intervene too soon, we'll lose any control of the battle, and you'll probably get all of us killed. We should stick with her plan.”

Balthier didn't meet her gaze, or really look at her for that matter. He kept his eyes on Archer, fixated on her face. And Archer... That look of determination – Serah remembered a time when she had that look, too, back when she believed she would win the Holy Grail.

Not that she didn't believe she could do it this time. Back then she was too proud to admit that _maybe_ the Grail was out of her reach, or that someone else needed it more than her. She believed she knew better now.

Archer turned on her heel, her armor materializing onto her body in a white light. The tails of her scarf blew slightly in the wind. “We must make haste, Master,” she said. “If we've decided on how we're going to approach this Servant, then I will go on ahead.”

“Just one more thing. You'll face this Servant head-on, while Balthier watches from a safe distance,” Serah said, touching her chin. “Where am I in all of this?”

“I...” Archer paused, then faced her. “Master, I understand that you wish to fight with me, but I fear for your safety. Neither of us know what kind of Heroic Spirit waits for me, but if they are anything like Lancer...”

“Then you want me to stay back.”

“Yes, but I know anything I say won't change your mind. However, I have one request... If your life is in danger, you will do as I say and run. In fact,” Archer said, and looked at Balthier, “you will be the one to make sure she gets to safety.”

His brows furrowed, and his breath came out in a short huff. But—

“If I must,” he said. “Serah can very well take care of herself, you know. She doesn't need me to protect her anymore.”

“Even a king needs protection. If anything, my Master ought to be proud that she has us fighting for her. It is an honor to have someone who cares for you enough that they would die for your cause.” Archer held out her hand, offering it to Balthier. “Forgive me, Assassin. Though we may not see eye to eye on many things, I am glad we can at least agree that her safety is our priority.”

Balthier snorted, but took her hand anyway. “And the Grail?”

“Without a Master, neither of us would live to see the Grail.”

With a chuckle, Balthier bowed slightly and brought Archer's hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. Archer's mouth curled upwards in obvious disdain, but she kept her silence.

“Ah, my apologies,” Balthier said, pulling away. “Is that not how men expressed their respect and admiration in your time?”

“It was customary, yes, but only when they were given permission.”

Serah pinched the bridge of her nose. She should have known better than to trust Balthier around Archer; he had no self-control when it came to a pretty face. She made a mental note to tell him later that Archer was off limits, but she doubted he'd listen.

“Balthier,” Serah growled through gritted teeth. He visibly tensed and took a step away from Archer, but that cheeky grin never left his face. “Let's get going already.”

“Then I shall lead,” Archer said. “Remember what I asked of you, Master. You must think of your own wellbeing, not mine.”

Archer vanished before their eyes, but Serah was able to follow her trail and direct Balthier on the right path. It seemed that the other Servant had picked an ideal location for a battle: deep within the local park, in a clearing hidden by surrounding trees. It was late in the evening, yet there was no one in sight – not even a couple going out for a stroll. It must have been the other Servant's doing, though Serah hoped they hadn't simply _done away_ with any innocent bystanders.

She went ahead and set up a bounded field anyway.

“You haven't changed a bit, Serah,” Balthier said as she knelt in the grass. “You're the only mage I've known that cares more about others than herself.”

“Hope cares more than I do. I guess that's why he became the overseer... So we wouldn't have any more unnecessary casualties.”

A red sigil glowed beneath her fingertips, and soon her mana flowed down her arm and into the earth. She felt a rush of warmth as the bounded field covered the surrounding area. There – that should have been enough to last the entire fight. As long as no one wandered in unawares, then the battle would still be in their favor.

“Everyone that died that night... He believes their blood is on his hands,” Serah continued. “Hope would rather pin the blame on himself than on anyone else. Even me.”

“And do you blame him?”

“I can't really say. I don't know what happened, so I'd be a total bitch if I said it was his fault. You understand that, don't you, Balthier?”

He crossed his arms. “He was but a boy back then. As a man, he's chosen to make amends for a mistake he may or may not have made. He has my respect, at the very least.”

“That's good to hear.” She stood and brushed the dirt from her jeans. “And what about me?”

“What about you?”

“You said you didn't blame me for the choices we made. Those choices cost us the Grail. Are you sure you don't hate me even just a little bit?”

Balthier looked at her carefully. “It was a decision we made together. If I blamed you, I'd have to blame myself.”

“Don't you?”

“I suppose, but that's why the Grail has called me to battle again. Our fight is far from over.”

“Okay.”

It was all she could say. _Okay_. The past was the past, and they had a new challenge to face in the here and now. Dwelling on past mistakes would only cost them their future. Serah turned her gaze towards Archer, who materialized only a short distance away. She was so used to the idea of just her and Balthier, that she hadn't considered what Archer wanted. If she knew her Servant's wish, then maybe she'd be able to focus on their future. On their victory.

“She’s impatient, that one,” Balthier said, gesturing towards Archer. “Best we not dawdle for much longer. I’d hate to face her wrath.”

“It’s going to take a while to get used to her,” Serah replied. “I don’t think we’ll ever see eye to eye, but… There’s no harm in trying our best, right?”

He smiled faintly. “Oh, I intend to get on her good side.”

Archer turned toward them, waiting.

“That must be my cue to leave,” Balthier murmured with a sigh.

“You'll have my back?” Serah asked.

“Don't I always?”

He vanished, and Serah waited until she could no longer feel his presence before she went over to Archer. Her Servant held her head high, but even Serah could see that she was uneasy about facing another enemy so soon. Both of them barely had enough time to let their mana and bodies recover, so they weren't at full strength. Of course, they'd have to get used to it. The Grail war was full of surprises, and they needed to be prepared for anything.

Maybe that was why Archer suddenly seemed so concerned about her wellbeing. It wasn’t just that she relied on Serah’s mana for survival; there had to be something else. After what happened with Lancer, Archer wanted to be more careful about where Serah was during any battles. But why? Was it – was it because of her blood ties to King Farron? Did Archer feel obligated to protect her to repay some debt to her king?

Whatever it was, she wanted to know the truth. She wanted answers.

But it would have to wait.

A man in black armor stood by the riverside, his cape waving gently with the wind. Archer straightened her posture as she approached him, then bowed when he turned to face her. So this was what she meant by showing all her foes respect in hopes that they would show her some in return. The other Servant's helmet hid his face, but even Serah could feel his cold gaze fall upon them.

“You did not come alone,” he said, voice muffled by his helmet.

“My Master and I intend to fight this war side by side,” Archer answered as curtly as Serah expected. “But she won't be joining our battle. I have asked her to respect my wishes, and so I must ask you do the same and allow her to remain unharmed.”

“It's unwise for a mage to fight a Servant's battle. Your Master is honorable, but foolish... much like her ancestor, King Farron.”

Serah flinched. How did he know? She looked to Archer for answers, but her Servant seemed just as surprised.

“The king's blood runs through her veins,” the man continued. “Pray that she doesn't make the same mistakes.”

_Mistakes!_ Serah stepped forward, but Archer snatched her arm and held her back with a strong grip. Right – no matter what happened, this wasn't her battle. She promised that she would stand back and watch like a good little Master. Even if this Servant continued to taunt her, she wasn't going to screw up and lose what little faith Archer had in her.

“So you must also know my true name,” Archer said, releasing Serah's arm. “I'll introduce myself formally, then. I am Ashelia B'nargin of Dalmasca, the Archer class Servant in this Grail war. My Master is Serah Farron, the only living descendant of my king.”

The other Servant chuckled and shook his head. “Fate has given you a second chance.”

“Has it?”

“It's no coincidence that you and I were summoned into the same war. No, I feel that the gods are smiling at us and eagerly wait for our battle.” He lifted his arm, and in a flash of light, a dual-bladed sword materialized in his hand. “It truly is a delight to see you again, my lady.”

Archer narrowed her eyes. “Have we met before?”

“Aye.”

Swiftly, Saber removed his helmet and tossed it aside. His hair was short and blond, somewhat messy, but his eyes were dark and cold. Archer gasped, then rushed forward and brought her hands to her chest.

“Basch, my friend,” she whispered. “Is fate so cruel, to ask us to fight against each other?”

Serah frowned. She recalled reading about a knight named Basch fon Ronsenburg, who followed Farron to war, but returned to protect his queen after the king's death. However, the man Serah read about was described as having a warm, gentle look in his eyes. He was loyal to his queen and gave his life for her. The man that stood before them now, this Saber, regarded them with a piercing glare and seemed ready to cut Archer down at any moment.

“I am no friend to you, Lady Ashe.”

“Because you, too, seek the Holy Grail. Is that it?” Archer asked.

“No—for the Grail has already granted my wish. A chance to see you again. A chance for you to have your revenge.”

“My...” Archer took another step forward. “My revenge? What is the meaning of this, Basch?”

“I'm afraid you're mistaken. You speak of my brother.”

Archer stiffened. “Your brother...” She studied him carefully, as if only then taking in his appearance. “I see. Basch told me he lost his family when Landis fell, but I suppose he was either mistaken or not wholly honest with me. Tell me, Saber: who are you?”

“I am a man whose sole purpose is to give the Lady Ashe what she desires most. Her revenge.”

Revenge? Serah glanced at Archer. Was revenge what she was after? Was _that_ her wish?

“I can assure you that revenge is the last thing on my mind,” Archer said. “I want the Grail, nothing more. If you claim to have no part in this war, then you and I are not enemies.”

“You've no idea who I am or what I've done, do you? Lady Ashe—I swore allegiance to the Archadian Empire. I was there when your kingdom fell, when your King lost his life—and I am the one who slew your dearest friend.”

Archer didn't respond, but she curled her fingers around her sleeve.

“He died as he lived,” Saber continued. “He died for his queen. Are you not proud of him? Is it not an honor to have someone give their life for you?”

“How _dare_ you—”

“You claim to have no need for revenge, but I see it in your eyes, Lady Ashe. You lost your kingdom, your family, and your people... Surely you seek justice for all the blood that has been spilled.” Saber raised his sword again. “Come. I will give you what you want most.”

“You...” Archer grit her teeth. “You dare speak to me like this? I will not be _insulted_ by you!”

Serah grabbed Archer's arm before she could draw her weapon. “Archer, wait—”

Her Servant jerked out of her grip and shoved her aside. “Stand back, Master. This is not your battle.”

“Yes, it is—and I'm telling _you_ to back off before you get killed!”

Archer was letting her anger get the best of her. She was the one who said she needed to give all the other Servants a chance before she declared them her enemy, but now she was more than ready to fight Saber – all because he _claimed_ to have killed her friend. Serah had a gut feeling that Saber wasn't lying, but she was more concerned about her own Servant.

She could feel the sudden surge in mana being drained from her body. Archer was preparing to use her strongest attacks against him, maybe even her Noble Phantasm. Since Saber already knew her identity, she had no reason to hold back – she could go all out against him if she wanted.

“I cannot fight in this war unless you let me, Master,” Archer said tightly. “The Grail will be ours, and defeating Saber will bring us closer to it.”

“Just—” Serah bit her lip. “Don't do anything stupid, Archer. I'm putting all my trust in you.”

Without another word, her Servant turned the other way and faced Saber, then summoned her bow.

“It's rare to see a mage stand side by side with their Servant,” Saber said. “So long as she stays out of our way, I promise no harm will come to her.”

“And what of your Master?” Archer asked.

Saber's gaze darkened. “I serve no mage. It was the Grail that called me to this battlefield.”

Was that even possible? The Grail couldn't summon its own Servants, not unless there were no more Masters to perform the summoning themselves. Serah pondered this for a moment. Wait – when she had summoned Archer, the Saber class Servant was still available. It was possible that because she summoned Ashelia B'nargin, the Grail took it upon itself to summon her foe.

If that was the case... what _was_ the Grail planning?

The sound of arrows flying through the air pulled her from her thoughts. Saber deflected each arrow with his dual bladed sword, and parried the attacks with his own. Archer, however, managed to dodge every single one as if she could see them coming. In fact – Archer was moving at an inhumanly fast pace. She rushed towards Saber, barely leaving footprints in the dirt. Archer's bow transformed into a sword at the last second, and their weapons clashed with a bright burst of light.

“What use does the Grail have for a Servant like you?” Archer growled. “It truly is cruel—to force us into battle!”

“Nay, it's given me the honor of facing you, Lady Ashe. I have longed for this day, to give you your chance at revenge!”

Archer pulled away and jumped back, gracefully landing on her feet. “I don't seek revenge,” she answered, but even Serah knew it was a lie. “I seek justice—for my country, my people... My father, and my king. And for my truest friend.”

“My brother would hate to see you acting so rashly for his sake. He was too honorable, but surely he loved you with all his heart.”

“Don't you _dare_ speak of him!”

Serah ducked as Archer launched herself at Saber again. The wind nearly knocked her off her feet, but she dug her heels into the ground and covered her eyes. Saber was taunting Archer on purpose, trying to get her to lose her temper enough that she'd make a mistake. A mistake that would cost her life and the Grail.

The two Servants were moving so fast that Serah could barely keep track of their location. She could feel Archer taking more and more mana, using stronger attacks as time went on. Serah did her best to keep her mana levels normal, but she was still drained from the summoning.

Forcing Servants to fight shortly after the summoning ritual was a smart tactic. Their Master needed at least a day or two to recover, and neither of them would be strong enough to handle a serious battle. If Saber was getting his power directly from the Grail, then he'd have infinite power while Archer would soon have to cut herself off from Serah before she drained her mana completely. _My mana is tied to my life force, so if it gets too low..._

No, Archer wouldn't do that. She wouldn't risk their chance at the Grail by killing Serah, even if it was an accident. At least – that was what Serah hoped.

Flashes of light whipped around, and then – it was like time stopped.

Saber had his sword at Archer's throat.

“Archer!” Serah cried. _No, it can't be over already!_ “Go back to spirit—”

“If you truly wanted me dead, you would have killed me. I gave you many opportunities,” Archer breathed. How could she be so calm? “But it seems you were telling the truth. Your wish for the Grail was to have me kill you.”

Her opponent remained silent, but he didn't back down, either.

“What sort of man lays down his life like that? To not fight at all... It's a coward's death,” she continued. “Though I may desire justice for those I loved, I will not kill you unless you force my hand.”

Saber chuckled. “And what if I went against my word and killed your Master?”

“Then I would not hesitate to take your life.” Archer glanced over her shoulder, looking for someone that wasn't there. Even if Saber tried to kill Serah, Balthier would step in before he had the chance. “Why do you seek death, Saber? Why must I be the one to kill you?”

“It is my duty to show you what you truly are, Lady Ashe. Behind those gray eyes is a woman that watched everything she loved be destroyed. What kind of queen would simply sit and watch her kingdom fall, and not do anything to stop it?” Saber asked. “If she had the power to destroy her enemies... Perhaps if she had the Grail—”

Serah felt a burst of magic as Saber abruptly shoved Archer aside.

One moment Saber's sword was against Archer's neck, then next it was raised to protect her. Ice covered the blade to the hilt, clearly the work of the mage, but it wasn't enough to force Saber to drop his weapon. Serah squinted. No, if it was a mage, she would have sensed them. She had put enough mana into this bounded field that not even a first rate mage could break through it. If it wasn't a mage, then...

A Servant?

“Reveal yourself!” Saber shouted.

What replied was not a voice, but an animalistic growl.

The Servant materialized among clouds of black and red, mana radiating off his body like a heater. He was clad in all black with long, unkempt blond hair, his lips pulled back in a bestial snarl. Serah flinched – she couldn't get a read on his abilities or strengths, no matter how hard she focused. There was no doubt in her mind this was Berserker, but what kind of Berserker was he to have that much control over his madness to use _magic_?

Sharp pain shot through her chest. Serah doubled over, fingers digging into her shirt as she gasped for air. _This pain—I’ve felt it before!_ Tears pooled in her eyes, but she forced herself to stand up despite how much her legs shook. The magic surrounding Berserker was so great that it almost burned Serah’s nerves. It overwhelmed her—

“Are you…” Archer said, concern written all over her face. “What is it?”

“I—I don’t know,” Serah coughed. “My arm feels like it’s on fire, but—!”

The stabbing pain went straight to her hand – right into her Command Seal. Serah squeezed her eyes shut just as Berserker took another step towards them.

“Master, you need to go,” Archer warned, then hesitated. “ _Serah_ , please. You promised me!”

Berserker's whole body trembled, as if holding back the urge to maul both Servants and Serah. He lifted his head, eyes glowing red behind his bangs.

“ _Ser... ah..._ ”

Her heart dropped. Archer leaped in front of Serah as Berserker let out a mangled wail and lunged, her own Servant scooping her up and pushing her out of the way. Berserker landed on his feet, his gloved fingers clenched like claws, reaching for her.

“Master, get out of here! You—damn it! Assassin!” Archer shouted, looking all around. “Get her away from here!”

Serah's gaze drifted over Archer's shoulder, to where Saber stood between them and Berserker. Balthier, of course, was nowhere to be seen, but he had to be close by. He wasn't going to intervene unless Serah told him to, and at the moment she couldn't find her voice.

Berserker kept repeating her name. “ _Serah... Serah..._ ” He murmured it over and over, as if it was the only word he could understand. SerahSerahSerahSerah _SerahSerah—_

“You poor, mad fool,” Saber said. “I'll end this quickly. Lady Ashe, take your Master and leave this place.”

“You would let us escape?” Archer asked. “We're not done—”

Berserker charged at them again, and this time Saber took the blunt of the blow. His body slammed into a tree, knocking the wind out of his chest, and he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, unmoving. Steadying herself, Archer summoned her bow and aimed for Berserker's head.

Such raw power – was this the work of the Holy Grail? Serah had never read about any warriors that relied solely on magic and physical strength, which meant that this Heroic Spirit's powers were fueled by the Grail itself. Whoever had summoned him much have tampered with the ritual to give their Servant a power boost with Mad Enhancement. _You poor, mad fool_. It wasn't his fault that he was like this, but his Master's fault – and perhaps the Holy Grail's fault, as well.

“I cannot protect you for much longer, Master,” Archer hissed. “Nor can I order Assassin to do it for me.”

“You can't fight him alone,” Serah replied. “I can't... I can't get a reading on his weaknesses or strengths. I just know that he's...” Suddenly her head ached. “He's too strong, Archer.”

“Yes, I can see that for myself. The least I can do is distract him long enough for Assassin to get you out of here.”

Berserker was hunched over, his fingers digging into the dirt as he growled lowly. He lifted his head, and – then she saw it.

A necklace with a silver chain, a glimmering charm shaped like the planet—and a small ring with a single white crystal.

Serah felt sick. It was as if her heart had stopped beating and dropped into her gut. That necklace – it was exactly like the one she had in her pocket at that very moment. Only two of them were made by the jeweler, ten years ago – _only two_. The one she had in her pocket, and the one around Berserker's neck.

“ _Serah—Serah..._ ”

No.

Nononono _no—_

Her knees buckled, and she dropped to the ground like dead weight. She felt Archer grab her arm in an attempt to drag her back up, but Serah couldn't do anything but stare numbly at Berserker. He made no more attempts to attack them, but he didn't tear his gaze away from Serah's face.

“Get up!” Archer barked.

“I—” Serah shook her head. She struggled to find her voice. “He's...”

It was Snow. Berserker was _Snow_. Somehow he had been summoned again, but – he changed. Rather, _something_ had changed him. Someone did this to him! Serah lifted her head to look at him again. It hurt so much to look into those eyes and see nothing but hatred and madness.

Archer cursed under her breath and let go of Serah's arm again, this time raising her bow. “Very well,” she said. “I shall defeat him myself.”

She fired three arrows, but Berserker dodged every single one. He moved like an animal, but he could sense each arrow before they could hit him. The magic – he could probably feel it. Archer scowled and shot off more arrows, but none of them came even close to touching Berserker.

And his eyes – his eyes never left Serah. It was almost like they were the only ones there, and Archer was nothing more than a pest that needed to be squashed. Archer continued to fire a flurry of arrows in his direction, but after a moment, she lowered her bow.

“Damn,” she hissed. “What sort of Berserker is he, to have so much control? If my arrows cannot reach him, then I have no choice.”

White light gathered at her feet, and her bow and arrow transformed into an ornate sword, sapphires glowing with fresh magic. She raised it above her head and closed her eyes, and, in a breath, she ran straight for Berserker.

“ _Heaven's—_ ”

Serah jolted from her daze, reaching out towards her Servant. “No!” she shrieked. “Archer—no! _Don't hurt him!_ ”

Magic shot down Serah's arm and through her fingertips, enveloping Archer's entire body. She froze in place, sword still raised, while Serah sat there, gaping. _Oh no, did she—?_ Archer looked over her shoulder, eyes wide in horror.

“Master, why would you—”

Berserker jumped at her and threw her like a ragdoll, sending her plummeting into the river. He never gave her a second to recover, and instead kept grabbing her and tossing her around, over and over. There was nothing but the sound of Archer's pained cries filling Serah's ears. _Stop! Make it stop!_ Heart racing, Serah staggered to her feet and ran for them.

“No, stop! Please!” she whimpered. “Snow! You have to stop!”

At the sound of her voice, Berserker stopped. He held Archer up by her leg as if she weighed nothing, and turned around to face Serah. Despite his madness and monstrous state, he could still hear her voice. He knew it was her. _He knew her_. If she tried, she could reach him.

“It's me,” she continued, taking slower steps. “It's Serah. You—you remember me, don't you?”

Silently, he dropped Archer and made his way past her – towards Serah.

“Yes, you do recognize me,” she breathed, then held out her hand. “And I remember you. I could never forget you.”

Berserker roughly grabbed her hand and yanked her towards him, then held her by her hair, pulling her head back. Serah squeezed her eyes shut, feeling his warm breath on her cheek, but she didn't say a word. She just couldn't find the right words to speak. Lips trembling, she forced herself to look at him again.

She remembered how blue Snow's eyes were, and how they seemed to get brighter whenever she was around. Even with the Grail war looming over them, they somehow found time for each other, to grow closer despite knowing how their story would end. He loved her, and she loved him. _When I win the Grail_ , he had said, _I'll ask it to give me life again. My wish is to stay with you_.

But now – his eyes weren't blue. They didn't light up because she was there. His eyes were red like blood, filled with nothing but madness and hatred.

Hatred for _her_.

“Snow,” Serah whispered. “What's happened to you?”

Fingers grazed her cheek, holding her face, then—

A strong gust of wind forced them apart, knocking Serah off her feet. She fell into Balthier's arms, while Berserker knelt and clutched at his hair, glaring at them both.

“A shame it's come to this, my friend,” Balthier said, pushing Serah behind him. “Using the Grail's power for your own? I thought you above this.”

“Don't hurt him,” Serah pleaded. She grasped Balthier's arm tightly. “He's not in control! It's not his fault. Whoever summoned him—”

“—tampered with the ritual? Yes, I can see it, too. But it doesn't change the fact that he's at least aware of us and who we are.”

Serah bit her lip. “He remembers me.”

He remembered her, and yet – he also _didn't_ remember her. Rather, he couldn't remember what she meant to him, and what he meant to her. It was almost as if he had been summoned solely to kill her, not to get the Grail for his Master. It was a perfect, flawless plan – summon a Heroic Spirit with a connection to another Master and exploit that bond for your own needs. The best way to defeat an enemy was to find their weakness, and Berserker's Master had certainly done that.

“What would you have me do, Serah?” Balthier asked. He glanced towards Archer, who struggled to get back on her feet. Saber was nowhere to be seen. “You're down one Servant, and I'm not about to throw my life away for a madman.”

“I... I don't know. I can't—I won't hurt him. I just can't.”

Balthier sighed. “And yet he wants to hurt us... If there is nothing we can do, then I suggest we take our leave.”

“Go help Archer.”

“As you wish.”

But before he could do that, Berserker let out a pained roar. He clawed at his left arm, where underneath his sleeve a red brand began to glow. His screams were awful, like a dying man's cries for help, but Serah could do nothing but watch as black veins encroached on his face, slick like crystal.

_Do something!_ her mind shouted as her vision began to blur. _He's in pain—help him!_

The air felt heavy and thick, and the magic surrounding Berserker was almost unbearably strong. Serah grasped at her chest, struggling to breathe. _It hurts_ — _ithurtsithurtsithurts!_ A whimper escaped her lips, and that was all it took for Balthier to scoop her up and carry her away.

“No,” she choked out. “No, we have to—go back! We can't—leave...”

Her head fell against Balthier's shoulder, and all went quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't apologize enough for taking so long. I struggled to get these scenes the way I wanted them, and I admittedly procrastinated quite a bit... I can't promise there will be an update soon, but this next chapter will be MUCH easier to write. So, keep an eye on this fic!


	6. In a nightmare

She was eighteen again. Eighteen—young and stupid.

She sure _felt_ stupid, looking at herself in the mirror, fretting over her appearance like some school girl getting ready for a date with her longtime crush. She’d been there for the last hour or so, fixing her hair, and changing her outfit every time something didn’t look or feel right. Eventually she settled on a loose blue sweater and some black leggings, and even though she was convinced she looked like a mess, it was too late to change again now.

Serah straightened her sweater, tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, then turned around and went for the door—

Only to find someone already standing there.

“Cute,” Snow said, grinning ear to ear.

“How long have you been there?” Serah asked, warmth spreading across her face. _Dammit_. “You should have said something!”

“And interrupt you? No, no, no—I didn’t want to get my ass kicked.”

“But I didn’t…” Her breath came out in a quiet huff. “I didn’t see you behind me at all. Were you—were you _spying_ on me?”

“Well…”

“Snow, you—you jerk! You creep! What happened to giving me a little privacy?”

He held up his hands, as if to protect himself from any onslaught of spells she _wanted_ to fling at him. “Whoa, Serah, you know I wouldn’t do that! I swear I waited until you were done getting dressed! Go ask your friend, if you want!”

“ _He’s a fool, to be sure, but at least he’s an honest one_ ,” Assassin said. Serah sighed, shoulders slumping. “ _Shall I take my leave now_?”

“Yeah, sure. Come back later tonight,” she said.

Serah waited until Assassin left before looking at Snow again. He still had that shit-eating grin on his face, though it was probably more to make her feel better than himself. She pouted. Of course he wanted her to feel one-hundred percent comfortable before even thinking about himself.

_He definitely puts the “hero” in Heroic Spirit_.

“I’ve got homework,” she said, and marched straight over to her table. She sat down on the pillows and immediately went to work, but it was difficult to focus when Snow was sitting right behind her, watching her every move.

It wasn’t easy to focus on anything, especially school work, when she had so much going on. The Holy Grail war was already well underway, and the Magus Association was practically breathing down her neck, waiting for her to either screw up and get killed, or somehow claim the Grail and come out victorious. She was hoping – no – _praying_ for victory, but she had so much to do, so much to accomplish before—

Large hands slid down her shoulders, pausing at her elbows.

“Hey, what’s all this for?”

Serah slammed her hands on the table, scattering paper and pencil alike. Snow’s hands immediately jerked away from her, and he scooted back as she turned to look at him.

“I was trying to concentrate,” she said, running her fingers through her bangs. “It’s homework. From school. Mythology.”

“I get that much, but what I don’t get is why you’re bothering with it. Thought you’d be working on your next plan of attack, you know?”

She took a deep breath before moving to gather her papers. She touched the textbook, open to a detailed map of the fabled Valhalla. How ironic it was that her instructor assigned this particular chapter just days after she’d met her ancestor: King Claire Farron, ruler of Valhalla by birth and Dalmasca by marriage.

“Grail war or not, I’m still a student. School is my plan B in case the Association doesn’t want me… even if I win.”

“I thought winning meant you’d get a free pass.”

“Sure, maybe.”

She sent Assassin away that night for two reasons: to scout out the rest of the Masters, and to give her some time away from the fight. However, he didn’t want to leave her alone without some form of protection, and so she asked Snow to spend the night. _To protect me, that’s all. He’s basically my second Servant._ But no matter how much she said those words, the less she believed it.

_Stupid. You’re being so stupid right now, Serah._

It was a mistake to get involved after learning about Snow’s Master. His sister, an eight year old _child_ , had miraculously summoned a Heroic Spirit and was worthy enough to be a Master in the eyes of the Holy Grail. But a child had no part to play in the war, no right to be there, so Serah contacted the overseer and the Association and explained the situation. They spirited her away to someplace safe until the war was over. The girl still had her Command Seal, yes, but she was no longer a participant. As for her Servant—well, they left it up to Serah to deal with him.

He'd been ticked off at them for a while. Although Snow understood it was for his sister’s safety, to a stranger it might have looked like Serah did it to knock another enemy out of the race. It took him a few days to warm up to both her and Assassin, but he made it clear that he was there to get the Grail.

But then she and Snow got to know one another. Most days he followed her around in spirit form, and whenever they were alone they spent the time talking, laughing, holding hands—nothing too intimate and personal, but it slowly dawned on her that things between them were far from professional.

It was a mistake to let him into her heart. A mistake to fall for that dorky charm of his, that charisma and optimism… She was head over heels for him, and he for her, but it was all a mistake.

Serah shook her head. _Focus, Serah. There’s no time for regret._

As she took notes, Snow watched her work. She wasn’t sure what he found so fascinating about it, but he seemed to enjoy her company enough that he didn’t mind doing absolutely nothing.

“I never got that detailed,” Snow said suddenly. He had moved closer again, close enough that she was almost sitting in his lap. “If I ever took notes, I mean. Never liked school all that much.”

“I’m sure you were a model student,” she said.

“Oh yeah, top of the class. Definitely.” He snuck his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I didn’t take it as seriously as you do.”

“The Association won’t accept me if I don’t take my non-magical studies seriously. If I slack off at all, they won’t trust me to get anything done for them. Even if I’m a Master, I still need to do my best.”

He only hummed in response, completely content with holding her.

“I wasn’t always a good student, or a very good person,” she continued. “When I was younger, my parents told me we were descended from royalty… and I used to believe I was a princess. I wanted a castle, and a knight to keep me safe and love me. My parents spoiled me enough that I really thought I was a princess. Then I lost them, and I grew up and realized I wasn’t…” She set her pen down and sighed. “I wasn’t anything special. So I threw myself into my studies, practiced my magic every night, and here I am.”

“Now you’re fighting for your life in some stupid war.”

“It’s not stupid! Only the best mages are chosen by the Grail, but even then you’re not guaranteed a spot unless you successfully summon a Servant.”

“Yeah, but some cup can’t be worth your life. Why risk it?”

“Because—because there’s more to it.”

Snow went quiet, but she knew what he was thinking. He believed she hadn’t thought it through, but she’d been preparing for this since she learned she was a mage. It was her whole life.

“I might not have a wish for the Grail, but I still want to win. I _have_ to win.” Serah closed her eyes. “I can’t afford to lose, Snow. You understand that, don’t you?”

“You really want it that badly, huh?” he asked.

“More than anything. But if you don’t care about the war, why are you here? All Heroic Spirits want the Grail; that’s why they’re summoned in the first place.” Serah shifted so that she faced him, but he kept his hands on her hips. “Why did you answer its call?”

“Don’t know. Maybe I’ve got a wish, maybe I don’t. Doesn’t matter. But what does matter,” Snow lowered his voice to a whisper, “is that I’m going to help you. You’ll get that Grail, I’ll make damn sure of it.”

A warm, fluttering feeling bubbled in her chest. “Do you mean it?”

Snow grinned. “Of course I do! What kind of hero would I be if I didn’t?”

That was the first time she kissed him, the first time she let her walls down—for him. She was eighteen, young and stupid, but she was head over heels for him, and he for her.

 

* * *

 

_He remembered me._

Serah didn’t know how many days had passed, but she spent most of the time curled up in bed, hidden under a mountain of blankets. She felt numb, sick and weak. She’d been exhausted before it happened, but after seeing Berserker – no, after seeing Snow like that, she couldn’t feel anything.

She’d been so stupid to think this war would be easy. She made herself believe that she would win no matter what, and that everything would be better once she had the Grail. Things _had_ to get better.

Tears pooled in her eyes, but she didn’t even have the energy to cry. All she could do was lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, roll over and stare at the wall, and repeat. Sometimes she thought she felt better. Sometimes she got up, showered, and had some food, but then that emptiness overwhelmed her, and she was back in bed again.

_He remembered me._

Sometimes she sensed Archer nearby, but Serah didn’t want to say anything to her. What could she say? “Sorry for going back on my word, but I couldn’t let you hurt him”?

_He remembered_ —

“This isn’t like you at all.”

Balthier’s voice pulled her from her daze. Serah sat up slightly, hair spilling over her bare shoulder. He’d changed into more modern clothing while she slept; a simple pair of black jeans and a white blouse, along with numerous bracelets he probably stole. Balthier tilted his head and crossed his arms.

“Serah,” he said, but she didn’t want another lecture.

“Please, don’t. Not today.”

“Then when? It’s been three days, and we’ve wasted enough time as it is. The war won’t stop because you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I can’t…” She gripped the blankets and shook her head. “I can’t deal with this right now. I don’t—I don’t know what to do, Balthier.”

“We have two choices. We can let someone else defeat Berserker, or we do it ourselves. Surely you don’t want to leave him in that sorry state for much longer, hm?”

He was a monster. Someone, or something, had turned him into a monster. Snow had been in so much pain, but his Master forced him to fight against his will, and he had no choice but to obey. Obey and kill anyone who stood in their way—including Serah. Kill or be killed. Of course she didn’t want him to suffer, but she also couldn’t let him be killed by someone who didn’t _care_.

“How could this happen?” she asked. “Who would do this to him?”

“A mage that wants the Grail, clearly. Berserker may be mad, but he’s definitely one of the strongest Servants I’ve faced. If we’re not careful, we could lose the war to him. Remember, your Archer can’t fight him.”

Serah nodded. “It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to use a Command Spell on her. It just—happened. It was out of my control.”

“Your feelings got the best of you, and I’m afraid that’s not reason enough for her. Give her time, and she’ll warm right back up to you.”

Doubtful. Whatever trust Serah had earned was long gone now. “Do you think you can fight him?” she asked.

“Honestly? I wouldn’t last a minute against him. Not when he’s like that.”

“Then if neither of you can do it, then…” _Could I really stop him?_ “We’ll have to find another way.”

Balthier looked at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, though judging by the furrow of his brow, he wasn’t happy about it, either. “Don’t force yourself,” he said. “Seeing someone you love die is one thing, but being the one to end it… It’s not something I would wish upon anyone.”

“I know.” Her lips trembled. _No, no more crying. Stop feeling sorry for yourself_. “But we don’t have a choice.”

“We could always go after his Master,” he suggested almost too nonchalantly. “Without them, he wouldn’t last long at all. A day or two, perhaps.”

“That’s murder, Balthier.”

“I am Assassin, after all.”

“It’s out of the question. If we can, I want to find his Master before we do anything else. I want to know who did this to him.”

Balthier hummed softly in response, joining her on the bed. It was comforting to feel another body next to her, to feel the warmth of someone else’s presence. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“There’s only one person who knows all the Masters. If we tell him that someone tampered with the summoning ritual, then he’d want to intervene. It’s against the rules to use that kind of magic in the war.”

“So you want to speak to the overseer.”

“Yes. Hope would want to help Snow, too. He has a right to know what’s going on.”

“And what about Saber? He claimed it was the Grail that summon him, not a mage. Isn’t that against your rules as well?”

Serah shook her head. “I don’t think it’s ever happened before. There have been mages that created artificial Servants or summoned more than one… I suppose we can’t do anything if it was the Grail that willed it.” She tugged at her blankets, then shoved them aside. _No more moping. I have to do something_. “But first things first, we have to help Snow. I’m not going to let him suffer.”

Balthier snorted. “You intend to put the war on hold for him.”

“You make it sound like this is a mistake,” she said. “Is it? Am I doing the wrong thing?”

“You’re the Master, not me. Whatever you decide, I’ll do all I can to make it happen. But as a warning… Don’t get yourself killed for him. He’s a lost cause.”

“I know. No matter what, he can’t come back for good. But if I can at least help him now, then…” She took a deep breath. “I can move on with my life.”

She thought she already moved on. He was nothing more than a ghost of the past, and she was alive. No amount of power could keep him in this realm, and so it was a harsh reality she had to accept. Ten years had gone by, and she thought the pain of losing him was long gone, but – seeing him again, even as a monster…

Serah looked at her nightstand, where her necklace sat. It was a symbol of a promise Snow made: _I’ll ask the Grail to give me a second chance at life._ He broke that promise, but she never threw the necklace away. Even on nights when she was too drunk and too angry at herself for screwing up her life, she couldn’t get rid of the one thing that tied her to the past. Tied her to Snow.

She picked it up and tied it around her neck anyway.

“I’m going to arrange a meeting with Hope,” she said, facing Balthier. He lounged on the bed as if he owned it. “It will have to be outside the church, and I want you to come with me.”

“You’re not going to tell Archer about this, are you?” he asked.

“I don’t think she wants to see me right now. Besides… I think she already knows what I’m going to do. That’s why she’s so angry with me.”

“You used a Command Spell against her wishes, all to save an enemy. Of course she’s angry, and understandably so.” Balthier closed his eyes and waved a hand, shooing her away. “Get yourself ready. I’m going to rest a bit.”

Serah frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t have a mage supplying me with mana, so I need to rest all I can. I tire easily.”

She considered offering him another contract, but she was sure her body couldn’t handle two Servants. But still…

“Balthier…” she started to say. “If you need mana—”

“I know a thing or two about charming women into my bed,” he cut in. “Perhaps I’ll do that today. Their mana will suffice for the time being.” He rolled onto his side, tucking his arms under the pillows.

“I’m here, you know.”

“Are you offering yourself to me?”

“Only if you’re desperate.”

He smiled anyway. “Not quite there yet. If I find myself moments from fading away, I’ll consider your offer.”

She wasn’t sure if he was being serious, or merely teasing her.

“You shouldn’t have killed your Master. I don’t think you really thought it through,” she said. “I could have been persuaded into an alliance, knowing I had you on my side.”

Balthier opened one eye and looked at her. “They weren’t worthy of my loyalty, believe me. I’m better off with you.”

“You sure have a lot of confidence in me. I hope I don’t let you down again.”

“Oh, I have faith in you. You’re destined for great things, Serah.”

“What, can you see my future or something?”

He grinned wickedly. “If I could, do you really think I’d tell you?”

“Well—no, I wouldn’t want you to. I don’t think clairvoyance is one of your skills, anyway.”

“Mm, I suppose not.”

 

* * *

 

She allowed Balthier to go off on his own. If anyone was tracking her, she wanted to keep Balthier a secret. Having two Servants was an advantage she wasn’t ready to share just yet, especially not with the overseer. In any case, Balthier seemed happy with the idea, having more freedom to do as he pleased. As long as he remained close enough to protect her, Serah had no problems, either.

The park was particularly busy today. Everyone was enjoying the sunny day with friends and family, having picnics and playing games with their children. Serah walked through the crowd somewhat at ease, knowing no sane Master would risk attacking her in plain sight like this. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched.

Hope was right where she knew he’d be: sitting on one of the benches and reading. He looked like a regular man taking a break from his busy work life, simply enjoying the moment. Serah slid into the spot next to him, though Hope only glanced at her over his book. _Legends & Myths: A Look into the Past_. Typical of him to read up on potential Heroic Spirits.

“You’re early.”

“I know when to keep an appointment,” Serah said. “This is really important, Hope. I need to talk to you about—”

“Berserker. I know. Another Master brought it to my attention before you called.”

Her heart dropped. “He’s fought someone else already?”

“No, so far he’s only gone after you.” Hope closed his book and put it into his bag. “We’re aware of the situation, and so is the Association.”

“Do they intend to do something?”

“At the moment, no. There’s no reason for them to step in. Tampering with the ritual is against the rules, but it’s not something they haven’t seen before. A lot of mages will alter their summoning to get a specific Servant.”

Serah frowned. “And this mage—did they summon Snow on purpose?”

“It would appear so. However… Serah, you mentioned that aside from being Berserker, something was different about him.”

“His magic was incredibly strong, but I swear I’ve felt it before. At the end of the last war, before the Holy Grail materialized… It was the same kind of magic. It felt like it was burning me from the inside out.”

“So you believe the Grail has something to do with this.”

“Saber said it was the Grail that summoned him, so maybe it’s the same case with Snow. Maybe it wasn’t a mage that changed him, but the _Grail_.” Serah laced her fingers in her lap. “Is that possible? Can it summon its own Servants?”

Hope nodded. “I suppose it can.”

“But why? What other purpose does the Grail have in its own war?”

“You know as much as I do. No one can understand the workings of the Grail. All we can do is accept that it has a will of its own.” Hope watched a group of children running around the fountain, splashing water at each other. “As for Berserker… It’s up to you whether you want to fight him or leave him be.”

“Because the Association won’t do a damn thing.”

“Unless he starts killing civilians… No. They won’t do anything. I can’t do anything, either, as much as I’d like to.”

“If he goes rogue…”

Hope said nothing else, but she could see it in his eyes. _There’s something he’s not telling me_. He was bound by duty to keep things from her, as she was nothing more than a participant in the war, but as his friend—

_No, we’re not friends. Acquaintances, at most._ Hope had gone against his orders and offered to help her win, but she refused. She had been too proud, too angry with him, to consider his offer, and now he had no reason to share everything he knew.

As overseer, he was obligated to inform participants of any changes to the war. He even had the ability to give a call to arms in case a Servant or mage endangered civilians. Serah’s thoughts drifted back to Snow; if she didn’t do something about him soon, Hope would have no choice but to tell the others to hunt him down. Hunted and put down like an animal…

She couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m glad to see you’re taking this war seriously,” Hope replied. “I thought you might bow out once you realized who Berserker was. I can’t do anything to help with the Church and the Association watching my back.”

“And you follow their orders like an obedient dog…” Serah found herself scowling. She crossed her arms and sighed. “Won’t you get in trouble for meeting with me?”

“I’ve met with the other Masters and told them the same thing. They’re aware of Berserker’s potential danger, and the possibility that you’ll all have to work together to stop him.”

“It’s like you’ve already given him a death sentence.”

“I had no choice, Serah. It’s my job to inform all participants of any—”

“What about his Master? You know who they are. You could tell them to tighten their control over Berserker before he does anything dangerous.”

“There’s no way for her to control him now.”

“Why not?” Serah asked. “Hope—is his Master dead?”

She knew he couldn’t tell her anything else, but the guilty look on his face said it all: _not yet_.

“Summoning the Berserker class Servant takes a great toll on the body. Not even a first rate mage can have complete control without risking their life.” Hope’s hands balled into fists, knuckles turning white. “She knew the risk… She understood what might happen, but…”

Serah snatched his hands. “ _Hope_. Tell me—who summoned Snow?”

“I think you already know.”

And she did.

‘ _I hope you find what you’re looking for, Serah. Whatever happens in this war, you deserve it._ ’

She jerked away from Hope’s hands, her own fingers going stiff. She felt sick, but not from shock or disgust—from guilt. _Penelo_. She tried to warn Serah, but again she let her pride get the best of her, and she brushed aside Penelo’s concern like it meant nothing.

“She had summoned him at that point,” Serah murmured. “She was asking me to fix him… ‘Summon my brother’, she said. When she tried, he came back changed. The Servant she summoned wasn’t him anymore.”

“I warned her this might happen,” Hope answered. “She could have given up her rights as Master, but they wouldn’t let her.”

For the past ten years, Penelo had been in the Church’s care—though she lived with Hope as his ward. But who was the one pulling his strings? The Association, people so desperate to see the Holy Grail that they would do anything, even ask a child to sacrifice her life. They may have claimed to be a neutral party, the organizers of the war itself, but they were just as ambitious as most mages. They wanted the Grail just as much as any other Master.

Serah thought Hope could keep her safe. Hell, Penelo _was_ safe until the Grail chose her again, and once it had marked her, the Association took advantage of a little girl’s wishes. Or maybe she wasn’t safe in the first place. Maybe it was a mistake to trust them—to trust anyone to protect her.

_It’s my fault, too. I led them right to her._ Serah squeezed her eyes shut.

“Is this why they won’t do anything about Berserker?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What _do_ you know? Did you even try to stop them?”

“Of course I did, but once they named her a Master, there was nothing I could do. I didn’t realize what the Association was planning until after she summoned him.”

“But what about the ritual? They must have tampered with it!”

“No, they were trying to summon Rider again. She said that’s what they were aiming for, but… Something went wrong.” Hope ran his fingers through his hair. “Penelo came to me for guidance, so I sent her to you. I proposed you two make an alliance. She wanted you to take away her Command Seal.”

“And take Snow as my own Servant.” Serah felt like laughing. She’d been so selfish, so _stupid_ , that she didn’t realize how much pain Penelo was going through. She wanted to save herself and her brother, but Serah didn’t want anything to do with her. _My Holy Grail War_ , she’d said. She hadn’t changed at all.

“You might not have been able to help them, but Penelo wanted to try,” Hope continued. “I tried to help her, but the Association sealed her fate. I couldn’t stop them.”

“Do they still have her?”

“She’s been placed in my care again. The moment they realized she had no control over Berserker, the Association gave me permission to remove her Command Seal.” He pushed back his sleeve, revealing the fresh spells twisting around his arm. “She’s no longer his Master, but he won’t let go of her. He’s still draining her life force to sustain himself.”

Serah shook her head. “Snow would _never_ hurt his own sister,” she whispered. “That’s not him—he’d never hurt _anyone_. That’s not _him_.”

“Then you know what you have to do, Serah. You can still save her. Save both of them. But you have to act now, because unless you kill him—Penelo will die.”

_And more blood will be on our hands. More innocent lives will be taken._ Serah wanted to erase her mistakes and move on with her life, but every step she took was a step backwards, not forward. Her past was coming back to haunt her. There was no way for her to change what she’d done, all the mistakes she made, but she could prevent it all from happening again.

Serah touched her necklace. _I’m sorry, Snow—but you’d understand, wouldn’t you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> balthier is such a Dad to serah........
> 
> I tried to get this done in like two weeks after the last chapter, but then I went ahead and worked on some of the later chapters, so I got a little distracted! We'll see how quickly I can get these next few chapters done.


	7. For him

Before she did anything else, she needed to talk to Archer. If she really intended on putting her battle on hold for this, for _Snow_ , Serah had to tell her first. No more secrets, no more mistakes. She wanted to be completely honest this time, given that things had become far more personal than she expected.

Serah had left the park in a hurry. She and Hope had parted ways almost amicably, for once, but their conversation left a bad taste in her mouth. Hope hadn’t given her much choice in the matter, though he wanted to make her _think_ she did, and ultimately he left it up to her whether she killed Berserker, or someone else did. If she waited too long, Penelo would die. If she allowed another mage to handle it, they wouldn’t care if the girl lived or died.

But letting someone else, a complete stranger, kill Berserker was simply out of the question. Snow deserved better than that, even if it wasn’t _him_ anymore.

When she reached her apartment door, Serah took a deep breath. “Archer?”

Silence, then—

“ _I am here._ ”

She couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that escaped her lips. Serah unlocked the door and went inside, expecting to find her Servant already waiting for her, but instead it was her cat that greeted her first. Lulu meowed loudly and rubbed against her leg, and it was then that a terrible thought crossed Serah’s mind. If she died, who would take care of him? She supposed she could ask one of her neighbors to watch him until the war was over, and if she happened to die—well, at least he would have a good home.

Serah watched Lulu patter into her bedroom, likely to nap for the rest of the afternoon. She made her way into the main room where Archer sat on the couch, reading something on the laptop. She had already prepared tea for them both; peppermint, Serah figured from the lingering smell in the air. She wasn’t sure whether to move or to remain where she was, standing dumbstruck in the hall.

She hadn’t expected Archer to be so willing to talk this soon. If anything, she expected Archer to demand she break their contract. ‘ _You’ve already made peace with Assassin. He is your true Servant, not I._ ’

“You met with the overseer, did you not?” Archer asked. She patted the cushion, but didn’t look up from the screen. “Come. I feel we have much to discuss.”

“Okay…” Serah did as she was told, albeit reluctantly. She glanced at the screen—what was Archer doing, reading the local news? _Family of Four Found Dead: Murder or Suicide?_

“I assume the two of you came to a decision about Berserker, or else you wouldn’t look so forlorn,” Archer said. “What are we going to do?”

‘We’, she said, not ‘you’. Serah’s breath caught in her chest, but she pushed the sudden swell of joy aside. “He said it was up to me. The Association won’t step in unless he causes trouble for civilians, which…”

“I don’t know if it will ever come to that. I’ve been thinking about this the past few nights, and I believe his only target is you.”

Serah didn’t feel like drinking tea, but she took the cup when Archer offered it to her. “That’s exactly it. I’m the only one who can do something about him.”

“You don’t want someone else to kill him, you mean.”

She nodded.

“Well, then,” Archer said, leaning into the couch cushion. “I suppose it’s a good thing you used a Command Spell.”

“Archer—I really am sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I…” Serah took a deep breath. She forced herself to meet Archer’s gaze, but she didn’t look at her with resentment or hatred. It was pity. “I nearly got you killed. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not going to make any excuses?”

“I don’t see the point. I had a moment of weakness, and I made a mistake. There’s nothing I can really say that’ll excuse that.”

She expected Archer to lash out at her, scream in her face and tell her what an idiot she’d been. But Archer was relatively calm, if not a little passive aggressive. She had every right to be angry, of course, and it definitely would’ve felt _wrong_ if she wasn’t the least bit mad.

“There’s no reason to fear me, Master. I won’t run away if you tell me the truth.” Archer paused as if waiting for Serah to respond. “No? Then I shall say it. At that moment, the only thing you wanted was to keep Berserker safe. I had every intention of using my Noble Phantasm, and you thought I was going to kill him. So, in your distress and desperation, you unknowingly used a Command Spell, thus preventing me from doing him any harm.”

“When you put it like that—”

Archer held up a finger. “I’m not finished. I may be angry, but I also can’t put all the blame on you. I, too, once wanted nothing more than to protect someone. I would have done all I could to keep them safe, because I made a promise to them just as I made a promise to you, Master. We will win this war and hold the Grail together. However…” She traced a finger along the rim of her glass, frowning. “We are not fighting this war alone. Assassin is on our side. Saber protected us despite naming me his enemy. And Berserker—he is someone you once loved.”

_Loved._ Once upon a time, yes—she loved Snow. Deep down she still loved him, and she always would.

“That’s what makes this so difficult,” Serah said.

“War is never easy, as we all must make sacrifices in the end. Enemies may become friends, and friends may become enemies.” Archer sighed softly. “It is something I am too familiar with, I fear.”

Oh—

“I’ve been so focused on myself that I didn’t really think about how you’re feeling,” Serah said. “I wasn’t the only one that had a blast from the past. How… how are you doing, Archer?”

“I am well. My wounds will heal with time, and though Saber’s words troubled me, it’s nothing you need to worry yourself over. He and I will see each other again.”

“That’s not what I mean. He killed your friend, didn’t he? Aren’t you even a little… _upset_?”

Archer shook her head. “I won’t let my feelings cloud my judgment. When the time comes, I will avenge those that have died… But for now, I want to help you in any way that I can. I may not be able to fight Berserker, but I can at least support you.”

She didn’t want to drop Archer’s needs and concerns just like that, but she didn’t want to push it either. If it was what she wanted, to focus on the Grail first, then that was what they’d do. All that mattered right now was that Archer was willing to help—and for that she was more than grateful.

“What, with magic?” Serah asked.

“As I told you, I could have been a Caster. I can heal minor wounds and alter time… Should you need it, I’ll provide assistance from the sidelines.” Archer rested her hands in her lap. “I won’t ask you to use another Command Spell to undo the first one. In fact I’d rather you not use them again. Being forced to act against your will is… It’s not a pleasant feeling.”

“I—I know, and I’m sorry. Again.”

“It’s all right now, don’t worry. Just refrain from using them again unless there are no other options.”

“You mean like a life or death situation.”

“If you are in any immediate danger, I will ask—no, I will demand you use a Command Spell to save yourself. But that is only if Assassin cannot keep his word and protect you.”

Serah knew that was the end of the conversation. They had both said what they wanted to say, although she couldn’t help but feel there was more to it. Archer was still keeping something from her, and whether she’d actually share it was up to her. Still—Serah wasn’t going to push it any further.

Archer sighed and reached for her cup again, then looked at the laptop screen. “You’ve been gone for so long, I’m assuming you didn’t see the news. A family was killed under suspicious circumstances.”

“Suspicious, meaning…?”

“Servant related, I’m sure. I’d like to see for myself, if that isn’t a problem.”

A Servant related killing could only mean one thing: her fears were coming true. Without a Master controlling him, Berserker could do whatever he wanted, and take whatever he wanted. Servants without Masters could live off human souls until they made a new contract, but considering that this was Berserker—then he could be killing people in order to survive. Penelo wasn’t the only one in danger now.

“Master?”

Serah took a deep breath and pressed her hands against her face. _Stop it, Serah. Don’t even go there._

“If you’d rather I go alone…” Archer began to say, but Serah smiled.

“No, it’s fine,” she said. “Let’s go together.”

 

* * *

 

The street was packed with police, investigators, and civilians, but the house itself was blocked off with yellow tape, officers standing guard in case someone wanted to slip by to get a better look. There weren’t as many onlookers as Serah imagined, though she suspected Hope and the Association had something to do with that. Within the next few hours, a news report would come out claiming it was another gas leak, and that the police were looking into it—but eventually they would declare the case another accident. The next Holy Grail War related incident would be the same. Rinse and repeat.

Serah didn’t want to get too close to the line. The instant she stepped off the bus, she felt anxious and sick. Her hands trembled so much that she had to stick them in her pockets before anyone noticed, while her legs wobbled like jello. Archer glanced at her warily, but she didn’t say anything.

In fact, she’d been silent since they got there.

“A whole family,” Serah murmured. “Even the kids. What do you think happened?”

“The first reports claim it was homicide, though others have speculated there’s more to it,” Archer replied. “They’ve made connections between this and the fire ten years ago.”

“You mean the fact that the police are doing all they can to cover it up. That’s all Hope’s doing. If he had to get involved, then we’re definitely dealing with a Servant here.”

“I agree.”

Serah pursed her lips. A Servant’s doing, of course. Anything that went wrong during the war was almost always because of a Servant and their Master. “Archer,” she said. “I want you to get a closer look. You can sneak past the police if you’re in spirit form, can’t you?”

“Yes, they won’t know I’m there. However, if there is an enemy in the area, they’ll be able to sense my presence even if I try to mask it. Assassin would be better suited for this, I’m afraid.”

“He’s… busy at the moment. I told him to rest up before we do anything else.”

Archer rolled her eyes. “I suspected as much, but no matter. I’ll do what I can.”

She walked behind one of the cars and vanished from sight, though Serah felt a hand brush against her shoulder in an almost comforting way. The gentle touch—it was enough that Serah felt a little more at ease.

Minutes passed before she heard Archer’s voice again.

“ _They’ve already moved the bodies,_ ” she said. “ _But I can still feel it… Their grief. Their fear. This was no accident, Master._ ”

“Do you sense anything else?” Serah asked quietly, moving away from the crowd.

“ _These people were drained of all their mana and life force… Yes, this was done by a Servant. The mana supplied to them by their Master wasn’t enough, it seems._ ”

Serah bit her lip. “You don’t think it was Snow, do you?”

Archer didn’t answer right away, and every second of silence that followed only made Serah think the worst. _He no longer has a Master, so of course he’d look for something else. Souls are the next best thing. He killed those people—_

“It’s a terrible tragedy, isn’t it?” A man’s voice startled her, making her jump. “Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” Serah said, waving her hands. “I was just lost in thought for a second there.”

The man smiled. Compared to all the other people on the street, he looked out of place. He had dark hair and wore a rather clean looking suit and tie. “You’re just as shocked as the we all are, certainly,” he said. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were a bit jumpy.”

“Yeah, it’s… pretty scary. I thought we had enough tragedy to last us a lifetime, but here we are. Yet again.”

“I was just on my way back from work when I heard the news, but I had to see it for myself.” He looked at the house and gestured toward the crowd. “Look at all of us… Flocking to sorrow like vultures. Someone dies, and the whole city knows about it.”

Serah forced a laugh. “I guess news travels fast in some parts. I was just at the park an hour ago, and I didn’t know this happened until my—friend mentioned it. Guess I’m a little out of the loop.”

“Then perhaps you’re the luckiest one around here,” he said, then tipped his hat as he moved away. “Have a good day, miss. Do stay out of trouble!”

He was gone before she had a chance to say good-bye, and, not a moment later, Archer reappeared at her side, looking disheveled and concerned. Serah opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but Archer spoke first.

“A friend of yours?”

“No, just some guy that wanted to see what the fuss was about,” Serah answered. “Did you find anything?”

Archer hesitated, looking down at her feet. “Yes, but… Don’t give me that horrified look, Master. The Servant behind this attack was not Berserker.”

And just like that, Serah felt like she could breathe again. “How do you know?”

“It’s quite obvious. If he had killed those people, there would have been more blood. Most Berserkers have no senses beyond their madness, and so there wouldn’t have been much left for the authorities to recover.” Archer ran her fingers through her hair. “As I said, the killings themselves were done quite elegantly. Whoever did this was careful about it.”

“You mean the Servant ate the souls and left the bodies to rot.”

“Yes. If I were to guess, I would say this was a Caster’s doing. Perhaps even Lancer. Someone who knew what they were doing.” Archer then leaned close to Serah and said, “Master, I must ask you to remain on guard. If Servants are going after humans, civilians won’t be the only ones in danger.”

“I know that, but I’ve got you and Balthier to protect me.” Serah shook her head. “At any rate, whoever this Servant is, they’re going to have to wait. I need to find Snow.”

“And if more people are killed? What then? Can you truly be so selfish?”

“I’m not—” Serah closed her eyes for a moment. “Okay, yes, I might be a little selfish, but right now we have to help Penelo before things get worse. Every day he drains more of her life and mana, and if we don’t do something soon, she’s going to die. I don’t want any more innocent people to die as much as you do, but you have to remember that Penelo is one of them.”

“So you feel that we must help her before we help anyone else.”

“I can’t let Penelo die. She deserved so much better than this, and I’m—” Serah could feel tears pooling in her eyes, but she couldn’t cry. _No more tears._ “I should have been there for her. I was so focused on myself that I never really thought she’d need help.”

“You feel guilty for not listening to her when you had the chance.”

“I do, and if I can save her, then maybe I can start setting things right. Running from my mistakes never got me anywhere, so… I need to start facing them. No more running away.”

A small smile crossed Archer’s lips. “I’m glad to hear that. But I know this isn’t just about your friend. Saving Penelo means defeating Berserker… and you know what you must do, Master.”

“Yes, I know. In a way, I guess this is all to help him, too. I can’t let him live like this, as a…” _As a monster._ Serah laughed quietly, but deep down her heart ached. “I’m sure Snow would understand. Actually he’d probably get mad at me if I didn’t do anything to save his sister. I know this is what he’d want.”

_But Penelo’s not the only one who needs saving._ Serah touched her necklace, twirling the chain around her finger. _You always protected me, Snow—but this time, I’m going to save you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm gonna have consistent updates," I said. "I won't fall behind!" Well, uh. I guess you could say my motivation vanished for a while there, and so I'm really, really sorry about the long wait for this chapter. It's a bit shorter than others because I wanted to leave enough plot for the next one before we head into arc two. However, I do plan on sticking with a schedule this year - like I've mentioned before, chapters 9-12 are well underway! (Chapter 8 tho, whoo boy. I'm not ready for the feelings.)
> 
> Thank the recent Fate announcements for bringing this fic back. (I may or may not be planning a fun little FGO AU that ties into this series...)


	8. Point zero

It wasn’t long after they got back to the apartment when Balthier returned. He seemed to be in better humor, humming to himself as he meandered into the room—though one stern look from Archer was enough to stop him in his tracks.

Serah told him everything that had happened: her meeting with Hope and what she learned about Penelo, and the decision she had to make about Berserker. Balthier listened intently, eyes dancing between Serah and Archer, though at times she caught his gaze lingering a bit longer on his fellow Servant. When she finished, Balthier leaned back in his seat and sighed.

“So more Servants are making an appearance,” he murmured. “Whether they want to be found is unclear, but they seem to be content with causing trouble for the Church…”

“I’m sure Hope’s handling it. If he couldn’t, we would’ve heard something from him by now,” Serah answered.

“It wouldn’t be the first time the overseer has made a call to arms over a rogue Servant. But that just brings us back to the task at hand—Berserker. How soon do we leave?”

“Tonight. I’ll try to draw him out with a trail of magic, and if he follows it, we can trap him within a bounded field. That way he won’t hurt anyone else.” Serah breathed deeply. “It might attract other Servants and Masters, but it’s a risk we have to take.”

Archer leaned forward. “There’s one thing I need to know, Master,” she said. “How do you intend to end it?”

“You mean, how do I plan on killing Snow? It’s okay, Archer—you can say it. I’m going to kill him.” Those words hurt, and saying them made it all too real. “It’ll be a mercy killing. I know I won’t be able to do any damage physically, but what I can do is take away his mana. Then… he’ll disappear. He’ll go back to the Grail.”

Both Archer and Balthier were silent, but she could see it on their faces: they felt guilty. Guilty that she was forced to do this because they were powerless. She almost wanted to say that it was her fault; Archer was bound by a Command Spell, unable to fight Berserker, while Balthier was without a Master and wouldn’t last long against a Servant like Berserker. Neither of them could fight, so it was up to her—

to put an end to his sorry existence.

“Painless and direct,” Balthier said, shifting in his seat. “Not the most noble way to die, but it’s obvious that the man we knew is gone. There’s no part of Snow left in that monster.”

_But he knew it was me_ , Serah’s mind whispered. _He knew it was me_.

“Then I will provide any assistance I can,” Archer said with a nod, as if to reassure her. “Assassin, you’ll distract him for as long as you’re able. Should Berserker prove too much for you, retreat. You’re no good to my Master dead.”

She didn’t look at him as she spoke. It was like she was ordering around a soldier in an army, addressing him as if he were nothing but a nameless face in a crowd. Was this how a queen treated her subjects?

“I’m already a dead man.” Balthier’s expression darkened. “But even a dead man has his uses.”

“Then I hope you know what you’re doing. Now, if you wouldn’t mind… I’d like a moment alone with my Master.”

Her words seemed to have caught Balthier by surprise. Unlike him, Serah had expected Archer to squeeze in one last lecture before they confronted Berserker. If she didn’t want Balthier around to hear it, it must have been serious. This was between them, and only them. Whatever Archer had to say, Balthier had no part in it.

To be honest, it had her a little worried.

“As my lady demands,” Balthier said with a curt bow, then left the room and closed the door behind him.

Archer waited a few moments before looking at Serah again.

“Master… No, Serah. I understand how difficult this must be for you, and I am…” She averted her gaze. “I am sorry it came to this. Losing someone you love so deeply is something I would never wish upon anyone. Not even my greatest foes deserve such pain.”

“It’s fine, really. You don’t have to—”

“Please, don’t pretend to be so modest for me. Let yourself grieve. Let yourself _feel_. Bottling up these feelings will only make it worse.” Archer took Serah’s hands, her thumbs pressing into her skin. “Your grief will consume you if you’re too proud to let it out. You’ll be powerless to do anything.”

Serah laughed quietly. “And then I won’t be able to get the Grail?”

“You won’t be able to live with yourself! I will not stand by idly while you tear yourself apart over this. I will not let you grieve alone. The Grail means nothing if I must watch another bury their feelings for the greater good.”

_Oh, Archer—you’re talking from experience, aren’t you?_

“My ancestor was like that,” Serah murmured. “Is that what you’re saying?”

Archer released Serah’s hands and stood abruptly, facing the window. “Claire fought nobly for her people. She lived solely for her kingdom… and she died for it, too. She never let herself feeling anything for the sake of others. For me.” She looked at her reflection as she spoke. “I did nothing to stop her. If I let you do the same, if I let you do this alone… I will have failed again.”

_Where’s all this coming from?_ she wanted to ask. _Why now, of all times?_ Since they’d met, Archer only cared about the Grail. She rarely asked about Serah herself, and until now she never willingly shared part of her own past.

“Her blood runs through your veins. I tried to deny it before, when I saw how… how foolish and selfish you were, but now I realize how foolish _I_ was to think you were anything but her descendent. Sometimes, when I look at you, I see her face. I see a young woman that lost sight of herself.”

She wasn’t wrong. After the war, she didn’t know who “Serah Farron” was anymore. A mage that had so much promise, well on her way to the path of greatness until the ground collapsed underneath her feet and sent her spiraling into nothingness. She took one step, and it was over. She made one mistake, and it was over.

She gave the Grail to someone else. She gave her future to someone else.

“I guess this is the part where you tell me it’s not too late,” Serah said. “You’ll say that there’s still a chance I can turn around and start my life again.”

“If you already understand what I’m saying—”

“I might understand it, but that doesn’t mean anything will change.” Serah slumped forward, pressing a hand over her eyes. “Look, Archer—I’m not trying to be noble. I’m not trying to be a hero. All I want is to do the right thing for once.”

Archer spun around, her eyes burning in anger. “And what does it mean to do the right thing? You could ask a hundred men that question, and they will all give you different answers. There is no definitive answer for what is right and what is wrong.” She breathed sharply, lips pressed in a thin line. “All I ask is if this is what you truly want. Only then will I stand at your side.”

— _I don’t know what I want anymore._

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Serah said instead. “What matters is that Penelo lives to see another day, and that Snow—won’t have to suffer anymore.”

Yet no matter how many times she told herself this was all for them, the pain only got worse. She wanted to run away and hide from everything, to pretend that this wasn’t happening, but she’d been running away from herself for years. It had to stop now, no matter how much it hurt.

“But,” she continued, looking down at her hands, “when this over, Archer… We’re going to get the Grail. It’s what Snow would want me to do.”

She sighed yet again. If this was what she wanted to hear, why did she sound so disappointed? “Then in his memory, I will make sure of that, Master.”

 

* * *

 

“All right, Serah,” she breathed. “You can do this. One more should do it.”

After walking around the city for a good part of the night, her legs were incredibly sore and felt like they’d buckle at any moment. Every few blocks or so, she left traces of her mana behind – a trail for Berserker to follow. A trail leading him straight to his death. She was acting like the bait, but in reality she was the hunter, and Berserker was her prey.

Serah walked down the street with her head low. Over an hour had passed, and she’d already been down this particular street two times already. If Berserker hadn’t found her yet, then he wasn’t looking for her in the first place. So if he wasn’t here in the city – where _was_ he?

“Archer,” Serah said, looking up towards the sky. “Can you feel him yet?”

“ _No, not at all. One would think he’d be in a densely populated area like this, but perhaps we misjudged him._ ”

“He’s not after souls, I told you. He’s after me.”

She stopped walking just as Balthier materialized next to her. “That’s it, Serah,” he said with a faint laugh. “Of course he wouldn’t be in the city. His sister has been spirited away by the Association, and he has no place to call home.”

“Home… He never liked the city. He grew up by the water in a little town called Bodhum. He liked to watch the sunset every night…” Serah touched her chin as she thought. “If he’s not hanging around the city, then he must be by the water.”

“And if we head there now, we might be able to track him down,” Balthier agreed. “Unless… Serah, the only reason Berserker found us last time was because _you_ used magic, correct?”

“Yes. He wasn’t there because other Servants were fighting. He came there because of me.”

“Almost as if you summoned him?”

A Servant battle threw off so much mana that even with a bounded field, other Servants would be able to sense it. But Berserker didn’t care about that. No, it was Serah herself that drew him to the battle. That was why she’d hoped leaving trails of her mana around the city would be enough to bring him out of hiding, but there must’ve been another reason why he found her so easily.

Balthier moved in front of her suddenly, reaching down and snatching her pendant from her neck. “This pendant,” he said, “you could use it as a catalyst of sorts to summon him to us.”

“What, like a mock-summoning ritual?”

“Something like that. The two of you are still connected, and it’s because of those pendants, I’m certain.” He held the necklace out and dropped it into her hands. “I’ll leave it up to you choose the battlefield. Archer and I will be waiting.”

When Balthier left her alone, Serah wrapped her fingers around the pendant. “Right. It’s all up to me, isn’t it?”

She found herself walking back to the central district—to the site of the fire ten years ago. Serah wouldn’t deny that something drew her back there, whether it was remnants of the Grail’s power or something stronger. Just like the last time she visited, something was calling out to her.

Serah knelt and touched the ground, gripping her pendant in her other hand. _Call out to him_. _He’ll find you, Serah._ She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. _Call out to him_.

“I know you’re out there, Snow,” she said. “I know you’re waiting for me.”

As she spoke, the pendant began to glow.

“I’m ready now. I know what I have to do.”

She waited, and waited, and waited. The pendant’s light pulsed like a heartbeat, as if echoing her own. Serah lifted her head as the light grew stronger, and then—

She knew he was there.

Unlike before, he stood behind her in silence, waiting for her to make the first move. Serah slowly got to her feet and turned, but one look at Berserker had her stumbling back. Since the last time she saw him, the corrupted magic had taken its toll on him. Dark crystal covered his left arm entirely and now crept dangerously close to his other arm, spreading like veins across his bare chest. And his eyes—red like blood.

“Why is this happening to you?” Serah whispered.

She thought that when they severed his bond with Penelo, whatever magic that had been corrupting him would’ve at least weakened. But it seemed like it had gotten even stronger over time, so maybe…

Maybe Penelo had not only ben his anchor to this world, but also the only thing protecting him from this dark magic. Now that their bond was broken, there was nothing stopping that magic from transforming Snow into an unrecognizable monster.

_Was this why you tried to warn me, Penelo? Did you realize what was going to happen to him?_

Serah felt horribly sick.

“ _Master, you don’t have much time_ ,” Archer said. “ _I can keep the corruption from reaching you, but only for a short while._ ”

Serah looked down at herself as warmth spread through her body. A protection spell, strengthened by their own bond. Without it, she would’ve collapsed again.

_Thanks, Archer_.

She looked up at Berserker again. “Snow,” she said, holding out her pendant. “It’s me. Serah. You remember me, don’t you?”

Berserker jerked back, as if the light from the pendant burned him, and he raised his monstrous arm in futile attempt to block it. He whined like a wounded animal, and as much as the sound hurt her, she needed to keep going. If she could just get close enough!

“I know you’re still in there, Snow! I know you can remember me!” A desperate laugh escaped her lips. “You don’t have to fight anymore, okay? Whatever’s hurting you—I can make it stop.”

With each step she took, she felt Archer’s protection weaken. _This magic is too strong, even for her. But I have to keep going!_ As she got closer, Serah pocketed her pendant and held out her other hand, reaching for Berserker.

“Snow, take my hand!” she pleaded. “You have to—”

Berserker suddenly launched himself at her, but Serah was prepared. Ducking, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face against his chest.

“You have to trust me, okay? You always said I was smart, so I know what I’m doing!” Serah shouted. “Whatever it takes, I’ll save you!”

He struggled and tried to shake her off, but she held onto him. It brought back memories, memories of when he’d take her sightseeing on his motorcycle, and she’d wrap her arms around him as tightly as she could. _I wish we could go back._ Tears pricked at her eyes, but Serah fought back and tightened her hold on him.

_Now!_

She pressed her hand to his chest and shut her eyes. “I’m so sorry, but I have to—”

Berserker roared in her face and flung her aside like a ragdoll. Serah fell onto her back, the pendant slipping from her pocket and rolling across the ground.

_No_ —it didn’t work! Why didn’t it _work_? Serah couldn’t stop the tears from running down her cheeks. _Why can’t I do it? Why can’t I—_ no, it wasn’t her magic. It was _her_. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt Snow, to _kill_ him, when she knew this wasn’t the fate he deserved. He deserved so much better, and all she wanted was to save him.

_Snow, I’m so sorry!_

She grabbed her pendant and rolled over, pushing herself up from the ground. She could hear Berserker breathing heavily behind her, getting closer each second.

“I want to… I wanted to _help you_ ,” Serah whimpered. “Why… why can’t I even do that?”

Time slowed around her until Berserker stopped moving, as if frozen in place. Serah could feel the magic in the air, gentle but powerful. Archer stepped up beside her and held out her hand, looking down at her with nothing but concern in her eyes.

“It won’t hold him forever,” she said. “He’s able to resist even my abilities. The Grail has supplied him with power no Berserker class Servant should have.”

“Is that why I can’t stop him?” Serah asked.

“Yes, Master, I’m afraid your plan won’t work. Even if you had the willpower to hurt him, you’re simply not strong enough. None of us are.”

So they were supposed to just run away again? Run away and let Snow _suffer_? His screams, his cries—he was in so much pain, and she couldn’t do anything for him. The Grail, or—or _someone_ was doing this to him, and if she couldn’t help him, was she supposed to give up on him?

Serah shook her head. “No, I can’t leave him like this.”

Suddenly, Balthier materialized beside them, a grim look on his face. “Archer, undo the spell.”

“What? Are you mad?” Archer hesitated, glancing in Berserker’s direction. His fingers had started to twitch; the spell was wearing off. “We have no choice but to retreat! I will not put my Master’s life in danger any longer!”

“Undo the spell,” Balthier repeated, “and get Serah away from here! She can’t see this.”

With a snarl, Berserker broke free of Archer’s spell. He was hunched over, clutching his head and screaming again, but then he looked up and stared directly at Serah. She couldn’t believe the pure hatred in his eyes, like he couldn’t even recognize her anymore.

“Get her out of here, Archer!”

Balthier moved in a flash, getting between them before Berserker could strike again. Something glinted in his hand—a weapon? Serah staggered to her feet, just then realizing Archer was at her side, holding her arm as if… as if she was holding her back.

“What are you—”

That weapon in Balthier’s hand was a dagger, and Archer was holding onto her so tightly, Serah thought her arm would snap. She turned her head in time to see Balthier dodge another strike from Berserker, and then—

He plunged the dagger into Berserker’s heart.

“You remember this, don’t you?” Balthier asked. Berserker stared wide-eyed over his shoulder. “ _Deathbringer_ —even the smallest cut is fatal.”

At his words, red light burst from the blade, and dark tendrils wrapped themselves around Berserker’s body. Berserker let out another pained roar and writhed, but Balthier twisted the dagger once before pulling it out and stepping aside—

and Serah screamed.

“ _No!_ ”

Berserker’s body fell to the ground in a broken heap, wisps of magic rising from his skin. He was fading away—he was _dying_. Serah felt Archer’s hand clenched around her own, as if to offer comfort, but nothing could stop the tears dripping down her cheeks. She thought she could handle it, watching him die, but this…

This wasn’t _right_.

Serah shoved Archer away and ran straight for Berserker. _It’s not supposed to end like this!_ She dropped to her knees and reached for him, even as his magic burned her fingers.

“It’s done, Serah,” Balthier said. He still had that dagger in his hands, still dripping with Berserker’s blood. “Let him go back to the Grail now.”

_I can’t_. _I can’t, I can’t, I can’t_.

She rolled his body over so she could see his face, and in that moment, looking down at him… She didn’t see Berserker. She saw _Snow_. The red had faded from his eyes, and that bright blue color she loved so much had returned. Deathbringer had weakened the magic that made him into a monster, and yet…

Serah touched his face, running her thumb along the hardened crystal.

“Master,” Archer said softly, kneeling next to her. “We understood that you wouldn’t have the strength to end it. We knew you wouldn’t be able to hurt him.”

“So you chose to… to…” Serah’s eyes burned. “No, _no_ , I can’t let him die like this! It’s not—it’s not right, Archer! I wanted to… I _want_ to—”

_Save him._

Over and over, those words ran through her head. _Save him. Save him. Save him_. Serah knew a way to bring him back, to keep him alive. _Save him and make the contract._ Penelo begged her to summon Snow as her Servant. _Save him and make the contract._ She had the power to change his fate.

Serah couldn’t let Snow die like this. He deserved to _live_.

Her throat tightened. “I can… I can save him. I can _save him_ …”

At her words, her Command Seal began to glow.

Her heart raced. _Save him, save him, save him_. Serah placed her hand on his chest and closed her eyes.

“Heed my words.”

Pain lanced through her arm, but she battled past it and focused on keeping his heart beating. Everything seemed to fade around them, and Balthier and Archer were nothing more than shadows looming in the distance. It was just her and Snow—and that was all that mattered now.

“My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny,” she said, voice cracking. _Save him_. “If you heed the Grail’s call and obey my will and reason… then answer me.”

Serah opened her eyes. Black lines twisted around her arm like veins, pulsating with each breath she took, but the crystal encasing Snow’s body began to crack. _Save him_. Serah leaned down and touched her forehead to his, holding his face in her hands.

“I hereby swear that I shall be all the good in the world… and that I—I shall defeat all the evil in the world…”

_Save him_ —

She felt something reach inside her body and wrap itself around her heart. Even as her vision began to fade, and she felt herself slipping, Serah wouldn’t let go.

— _and bring him back to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Fitting that I decided to update with THIS chapter today, no? (RIP to my heart, snowserah has killed me yet again.)
> 
> As I mentioned before, expect another update soon as the next arc is mostly written!


	9. Interlude I: Two hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The king now lies beneath the earth;  
> he’s buried deep and chokes on dirt,  
> but your queen will rule forever  
> even after she is dead and gone.  
> The girl in the crown picks up  
> her feet and the whole world follows.  
> The girl in the crown with eyes like knives  
> and a tongue like wildfire.  
> She’s the devil’s daughter  
> and the angel’s lover.  
> By the snarl of her mouth and the ring  
> of her steps you can see how she was born to rule.  
> The gods never cared for kings,  
> but queens wear gold winged with war.  
> You can hear them ask with pointed teeth;  
> aren’t we divine?
> 
> \-- The King is Dead, Long Live the Queen – a. davida jane

Ashelia knelt before the throne, hands clasped tightly in her lap to stop them from trembling too much. She lowered her head and bit her lip, praying that she didn't make a fool of herself in front of the entire court. In front of the king.

“May I present... the Lady Ashelia B'nargin, princess of Dalmasca.”

The court muttered amongst themselves, while the king sat quietly on his throne. Ashelia lifted her head slightly, meeting his gaze. The king was beautiful, more so than any man she had ever known. Rose colored hair spilled over his shoulders, covered by a thick dark cape. His eyes were cold, and his face was blank, void of any emotion. If he was impressed by her appearance, or felt anything at all at that moment, he wore his mask well.

“Rise, Lady Ashelia.”

As she stood, her knees threatened to buckle. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and it took a great amount of willpower to keep herself from giving into her anxiety and crumpling to the floor. Ashelia straightened her posture and moved her hands behind her back.

“Your Grace, it is an honor to stand before you on this day. King Raminas seeks an alliance between our kingdoms, for Archadia is an ever growing threat in the north. He asks that you, the Valhallan King, may consider lending your aid in protecting our kingdom.”

“What of the Rozzarians?” King Farron asked.

“My uncle has made peace with them, and they too wish to put an end to Archadia’s reign. Yet even with their army fighting for our cause, we cannot stand against Archadia. Not without your army. So again I must ask—”

“Why did Raminas not come here himself? Why send his daughter?”

“He is ill. My father isn't well enough to travel. He—”

“You didn't answer my question,” King Farron said harshly, raising a hand to silence her. “He could have sent a messenger to deliver a treaty, yet instead he sent his only daughter, her handmaidens, and a dozen members of his guard. Why do you think he'd do this?”

Ashelia swallowed hard. There was a specific reason her father asked her to meet the king. It was the same reason why she wore her best dress, a white one with red jewels hanging from her waist. She was nothing more than an offering to the king, a bargaining chip. She loved her father, and he loved her, but she couldn't help but resent him for sending her away for _this_.

“My father, King Raminas...” Ashelia said quietly. “He hopes that you may consider marriage. A marriage to me.”

“He wants to unite our kingdoms by marrying off his only living child,” King Farron replied. He sat up in his throne. “But is this what you want, my lady?”

“If it brings peace to Ivalice, if it can save my people... I will do whatever I must.”

She didn't want to look the king in the eye. All she wanted was to go _home_ , but she had a duty to her kingdom and people. She had no choice but to do what her father asked of her. All of her brothers were gone, taken by war and illness, leaving her the sole heir to the Dalmascan throne. However, she wouldn't be queen unless she married a king, and the only eligible man (aside from that monster, Vayne Solidor) was the King of Valhalla.

“I am offering my life to you,” Ashelia continued. “You would do my kingdom a great honor... And it would please me to no end to be your queen.”

King Farron said nothing. The entire court remained silent, save for the few whispers of gossiping men and women. Ashelia knew what they were saying about her. _A harlot! What kind of woman offers her body and soul to a man without darker intentions?_ _Raminas ought to be ashamed he raised such a vile child._

“An alliance between Dalmasca and Valhalla...” King Farron murmured. “Our kingdoms united against Archadia. The Republic of Landis stood no chance against Archadia alone, and surely we would be no match for them either. However...”

Ashelia held her breath.

“I would not take you as my wife unless this was truly what your heart desired.”

 _For my people_ , she thought. _Above all else, I must protect the people of Dalmasca._

“Yes, your Grace,” she answered. “To be your wife and queen... This is all I desire.”

 

* * *

 

Valhalla and Dalmasca celebrated the engagement for many days, but Ashelia suspected it wasn't the marriage they were so happy about – it was the hope that perhaps they finally could push back Archadia's forces for good.

Now that she was the king's betrothed, Valhalla was her home. King Farron gave her her own tower in the palace, and three handmaidens to serve her every need. She had her own library, filled with so many books that she couldn't imagine she'd have the time to read them all. She even had her own garden of roses beneath the tower. But these first few gifts didn't surprise her as much as her last.

She met the knights of her guard just days after she arrived. King Farron wasn't present, so his closest friend and ally, Ser Caius Ballad, was the one who brought the knights before her and introduced them.

She knew most of them, as they had served her father and family since before she was born. Among them was Vossler York Azelas, a man she had known since she was a little girl – and, admittedly, she once proclaimed he was the one she'd marry when she grew older. Now he was to guard her chambers as she prepared to be wed to another. Ironic, truly.

The last knight, the commander of her guard, was a man from Landis. He was no sell-sword, nor had he served any royalty before this. He came to Valhalla months ago, and he soon rose to the highest ranks among the royal guard.

“Ser Basch for Ronsenburg, my Lady,” he said, kneeling before her. He was blond, tall, and well built. Surely a knight like him would have done more good serving the king himself, not his queen. However, it was the king that appointed Ser Ronsenburg as her knight, and so she couldn't object or voice any concerns.

 _Sit at his side and be beautiful_ , her handmaidens told her. _Warm his bed at night. Give him sons that will rule the kingdom once you're both gone._

Ashelia curled her fingers and clenched her jaw. No, it wouldn't do for her to seem bitter, not when she was meeting her knights. It was as her servants said – all she could do was be beautiful and smile. Never show what she felt inside.

After the knights swore their swords to her, the court dispersed, and she was alone with Sers Ballad and Ronsenburg as they escorted her back to her chambers.

“Ser Ballad has told me you come from Landis,” Ashelia said. Ser Ronsenburg only glanced at her. “I am... truly sorry for your loss. I know not of your homeland, but I too know Archadia's fury.”

He said nothing, but she noticed the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

“Did you have a family?” she asked. “A wife, a child—”

“My mother and brother, your Majesty.”

“And are they…?”

“When the Archadian Empire invaded my homeland, my family chose to stay behind while I fled. I know not whether they survived or lost their lives in the attack.”

Ashelia bowed her head. “Oh, I-I am sorry. I didn't mean to pry.”

“I bear no secrets, and certainly none I'd keep from my queen.”

“You bound by duty to not keep secrets from me,” she murmured. “Not by choice.”

“Were I not bound by the king’s orders, I would still tell you all that I know, your Majesty. I try to be an honorable man.”

Behind them, Ser Ballad scoffed. “An honorable man would not have fled his homeland, and instead fought to protect his people.”

Ser Ronsenburg said nothing, but Ashelia could see the hurt clearly in his eyes. Guilt must have wracked him every waking moment, and living out the rest of his days as a knight was his atonement. However – Ser Ballad did have a point. No honorable man would leave his own family to die. How could she trust a man that couldn’t protect his homeland?

Still, it seemed Ser Ballad was less than pleased with her new knight. She could hear the disdain in his tone.

The knights took their leave shortly after they reached her tower, but Ser Ronsenburg stayed behind at Ashelia’s bidding. She invited him into her chambers, though he refused to enter until all of her handmaidens were there.

“I’m sorry to admit that you won’t be fighting any battles as my guard,” Ashelia said, sitting down before her mirror. One of her handmaidens, Syrena, began to brush out the braids in her hair. “I am to remain in my tower or stay within the grounds. It’s been days since I went to the city.”

“His Grace thinks only of your safety,” Ser Ronsenburg answered curtly.

“His— _our_ people are no threat to me. I am to be their queen, but how will they love me if I am kept within these walls?”

Syrena pulled too hard, earning a quiet hiss from Ashelia. “Pardons, my lady. These braids have tangled your hair.”

“Then cut it. I care little about my hair.”

“I—my lady, are you certain?”

Ashelia nodded, then held out her hand. “Ser, your dagger, please.”

Hesitantly, Ser Ronsenburg unsheathed the dagger from his sash and gave it to her. She then pressed it into Syrena’s hands, half expecting the girl to panic and refuse. But her handmaiden did as she was told, carefully taking the blade and cutting Ashelia’s hair until it was just above her shoulders. Long locks of hair fell to the floor, surrounding her seat like a halo. Syrena excused herself to get a broom, and left the room in a rush.

“My father made me keep it longer than I wanted,” Ashelia said, smiling at her reflection. Having shorter hair was almost liberating. “But frankly it was unbearable in the heat. Most women in Dalmasca wear their hair up in all manner of styles so they don’t faint.”

Her knight said nothing, but the shocked look on his face was amusing to see. He glanced away from her face, arms rigid at his sides.

“Oh, forgive me—I meant to dismiss you. Here, your dagger.”

He took it in silence, though he paused when her fingers grazed his gloved hand.

“Your Majesty.”

“Yes, Ser Ronsenburg?”

“You may call me Basch, if it pleases you. I have no ties to my family anymore—only my queen and her king.”

Ashelia felt a smile tug at her lips. “Ser Basch, then.”

 

* * *

 

“I trust everyone has treated you well in my absence?” Her king asked. He gently took her by the arm and led her onto the balcony, the sun shining brightly down on them. “I asked for only the best to serve my betrothed.”

“Y-yes. Everyone has been good to me,” Ashelia answered. Though the air was cool in the shade, she found herself feeling overly warm. “It’s beginning to feel like home to me.”

They weren’t alone; she was never alone. Most of the time she kept at least one handmaiden with her, and recently Basch had become her shadow, as she requested, though he never said much unless she spoke first. She felt safe with him around – safer than she felt with anyone else, even her king.

“You’ve cut your hair.”

“I felt it was time for a change. It’s much more manageable now… Do you like it, your Grace?”

“It suits you.”

“I—thank you.”

They walked in silence after that, listening to the sound of the wind blowing gently through the gardens. Their arms were linked, though the king was the one leading her down the steps. She didn’t know if they were going somewhere, or if he just wanted to walk with her. Perhaps he had no motive, and simply wanted to spend time with her. Get to know who she was, as more than his betrothed.

Ashelia glanced over her shoulder. Basch kept his eyes on the area around them, though at times she felt like he was watching _her_.

“I assume you’d like to return to Dalmasca someday,” the king said.

“I would, yes, but my place is here now.”

The king stopped walking, releasing his hold on Ashelia’s arm. His eyes were wide in disbelief, though she couldn’t understand why.

“You are free to come and go as you please,” he said in an almost gentle tone. “Once we are married, I won’t ask you to stay hidden away in your tower. You are no prisoner of mine, Ashelia.”

A warm feeling bubbled in her chest. “Your Grace, I…”

“As my queen, this kingdom will be yours, and Dalmasca is rightfully yours by birth. I will not take your home from you, I swear it.” His voice cracked as he spoke. “Ashelia—your life will always be yours.”

Ashelia’s throat felt tight, and she could scarcely think about anything but the look in his eyes. That desperate, pleading look. The shame and guilt in his voice. It was true – she had felt like a prisoner since she arrived, but she never wanted to give off that impression to anyone, especially her king.

Yet—

“I-I did not mean to mislead you,” she said. “I only felt that—”

“You thought I would claim Dalmasca for myself once we married. I can see why you might believe so… Traditionally, I could name myself king of Dalmasca the day your father passes on. I could take your land for myself and do with it as I pleased.” He reached out and touched her hand, taking it in his own. “But I will not take away what belongs to you. You are to be my queen, but first and foremost you are Dalmasca’s heir and rightful ruler.”

Words had truly escaped her, but it wasn’t because of shame. No, she was so relieved to hear those words. _Dalmasca is yours_. Dalmasca was her home, her kingdom, and her life. To know that someday she could return home—

“Th-thank you,” she managed to say. “I am… I am truly grateful.”

He smiled at her, then bowed and kissed her fingers. “There is no need,” he said. “You’re the one that has given me more than I deserve.”

“ _My king._ ”

And suddenly that kind, warm feeling disappeared from the king’s eyes. He glanced over Ashelia’s shoulder and released her hand abruptly, then brushed past her without another word. Ashelia’s heart sank; had she offended him somehow?

“Your guest has arrived,” the squire said, all but quivering underneath the king’s cold gaze. “You asked me to inform you—”

“Tell her I will be with her shortly,” he answered. “You may go now.”

The squire bowed and scampered off. The king visibly tensed, fingers balled at his sides, and Ashelia couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his head. Was he annoyed that they had been interrupted, or was this guest someone he didn’t want to meet?

“Your Grace?” Ashelia said, taking a step closer. “Is something the matter?”

“No, but thank you. There are things I need to do, and… I suppose this may be the last time we see each other before our wedding.” He turned around and gave her a curt bow, so unlike his earlier gesture of affection. “Until then, my lady.”

 

* * *

 

Ashelia found herself spending more and more time outside her room in the days leading up to the wedding. As expected she was required to at least have one handmaiden at her side at all times, followed by a few knights guarding each and every door, but today she was allowed to sit alone. She said she wanted to pray, to ask for the gods’ blessings before she became queen. No one was to disturb her, as the king commanded.

She wasn’t praying, however. She rarely prayed, and if she did it was for the safety of her people. Praying didn’t do much for her family; before her brothers died, she prayed by her bedside every night. “Let them come home,” she would beg. “Let them come home.” They never did, for death claimed all of her brothers, and soon it would come for her father. And – what then? She often wondered if it would come back for her as well.

“Your Majesty.”

She sighed and looked over her shoulder. “Ser Basch. Come join me. I’ve, ah… finished praying. I just wasn’t ready to return inside yet.”

Almost hesitantly, he sat beside her on the bench. This was the first time she’d ever seen him not wearing his armor, but he still carried that sword of his everywhere he went. Syrena often joked that a knight’s sword was just another limb; a part of them they simply couldn’t live without.

“I know why you came out here,” Basch said. “And I cannot fault you for it. This is one of the few times you’re allowed a little peace, isn’t it?”

“You know me well. Though you should also know my king threatened to punish any soul that disturbed me as I prayed. I could see you back there, watching me from behind the pillar.”

He cleared his throat, though Ashelia had to laugh.

“You are so… so _serious_ all the time! When I am queen, I shall make it a law that no knight shall frown in my presence.”

“I don’t believe that will pass in the court.”

“If they won’t listen to me, then surely they will listen to their king! Although… the king himself ought to smile more. I hope… I hope I can make him happy.”

It wasn’t like her to voice her concerns so openly, but there was something about Basch’s presence that made it easier to speak her mind. She felt she could be herself around him, as if all her fears meant nothing when she had her knight there to protect her. If there was only one person in Valhalla she could trust, she knew in her heart that it was Basch.

“When my father sent me here,” Ashelia continued, the words slipping from her lips, “I thought the king would turn me away. I convinced myself I wouldn’t be enough for him.”

“I rather think you might be too much for him.”

“Was that a jest, ser?”

Ah, she knew he could smile! Basch shook his head and chuckled. “Merely the truth, your Majesty.”

“Oh? Do you think me unworthy of our king?”

His eyes widened. “What I meant is that… You are far stronger than you believe. You may not see it yourself just yet, but I can see it now. I see it every time I look at you. Strength.”

“How can one have strength if they can’t see it for themselves?”

“Strength is not something you have every moment of your life. Even a coward may find his courage in times of need.”

“And… is this one of those times? Will I find myself filled with courage the day I am crowned queen?” She meant it as a joke, of course, but she wanted to believe it could happen. _The king is a good man. I have no reason to be afraid._

“I have no doubt that you’ll discover your strength someday, your Majesty.”

Ashelia laughed again. “Of course you would say so. I’m afraid you may be the only one that has complete faith in me, ser. My brave, loyal knight,” she said wistfully. “I am grateful, though. Grateful that you believe in me.”

“You’re my queen,” he answered. “I will always believe in you.”

_It’s your duty to say that. You don’t mean it._

“However,” Basch continued, “as your knight, it’s my duty to protect you from all harm. Should the king ever—”

Ashelia gripped his hand tightly. “ _Basch_ ,” she said, eyes wide. “Never—the king would _never_ harm me. And I would never ask you to… _harm_ him in return. You may be my knight, my protector, but he is your _king_. You serve him, not me.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

She pulled away from him, but her heart was still racing.

 

* * *

 

The morning of her wedding, Ashelia received a message from her father. He was too ill to come to her wedding, and was thus unable to give her away to King Farron. Her heart sank, but she folded the letter and set it aside. Around her, her handmaidens fretted over her hair, dress, and veil, humming to themselves.

Staring at her reflection, Ashelia felt like she was looking at someone else. It didn’t feel like her wedding day, and she didn’t feel overjoyed or excited for her marriage to the king. If anything, she felt anxious and sick. After the ceremony came the feast, and after that—

She hoped no one could see her flushed face.

“Please tell the king that my father cannot attend the ceremony,” Ashelia said, turning away from the mirror. “He must find someone else to give me away in his place.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The seamstress finished the last touches on the gown, then followed the two handmaidens out the door while Syrena stayed behind. Ashelia took a deep breath, checking herself over once more. The gown was beautiful, of course, but it was so gaudy and—not _her_. The veil had belonged to her mother, blue feathers and all, but the dress itself was handmade just for her.

“I am going to be queen,” she said to her reflection.

“Yes, my lady.” Syrena moved to check Ashelia’s face. “You will be queen.”

“I am going to be his wife.”

“Yes, you will be a good wife to our king.”

“I will have to…” _Lie with him._ The thought sent shivers down her spine, and she was sure Syrena could see the heat come to her cheeks. “I will be a good wife,” she repeated. “For Dalmasca.”

There was a light knock at the door, and Ashelia felt like her heart was going to leap out of her chest. _Not now_ , she prayed. _I’m not ready yet._ Syrena went to the door, but returned with someone Ashelia didn’t expect to see today.

“Ser Basch,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Are you here to—”

“Since your father cannot attend, his Grace has asked that I be the one to give you away,” Basch said, bowing his head. “If that is what you desire.”

“No—I mean, yes, I would be honored,” Ashelia said. “I’m thankful. Knowing I have my knight at my side, perhaps I won’t be so nervous.”

“You have nothing to fear from the king.”

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of him. It’s just…” _This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted to protect my kingdom, to give my people their best chance—but this? This isn’t right._ “I am told all brides are nervous on their wedding day. But I will collect myself before the king sees me. I will… I will be alright.”

Judging by the sad look on his face, Basch had more to say. She almost wanted him to speak his mind, to tell her she was making a terrible mistake. She’d told herself this was all for her kingdom, but it was only then that she realized how awful she felt. Marrying a man she didn’t love… Marrying for the sake of her people. Her father was the one who convinced her to marry King Farron, and yet he wasn’t even at her wedding.

She was going to marry a man she barely knew, and her father wasn’t there. Her only family wasn’t _there_.

Basch touched her shoulder, though it did little to comfort her. Ashelia’s lip trembled, but she took a deep breath and straightened herself.

“For Dalmasca,” she said. “For my people.”

 

* * *

 

“ _In the name of the Father, and in the presence of these holy relics… I hereby pronounce you man and wife from this time forth. May the blessings of the gods light your path for all eternity. Faram_.”

 

* * *

 

Her king took her hand in his and raised their arms high. The guests cheered, cried, and called out to them: _The king and queen! The king and queen!_ She smiled as wide as she could, but her heart sank. It was then that her king released her hand and took her by the arm, leading her away from the crowd and through the doors. Silence fell in the hallway when the guards closed the doors, and Ashelia hoped no one could hear her heart pounding.

He led her to his tower, where only two guards were posted: Ser Ballad, who didn’t even acknowledge her, and Basch. As she passed, arm linked with the king’s, Ashelia caught Basch’s gaze briefly.

“No one is to disturb us,” her king said.

Upon entering his chambers, Ashelia could no longer hide her growing anxiety. She trembled like a leaf in the wind, fingers grasping at her skirts while the king helped himself to some wine. He silently offered some to her, but she refused. Not even the strongest ale could calm her nerves.

For a while, her king stood by the balcony, wine in hand, listening to the distant clamors of the kingdom’s celebration. After a moment, he set down his glass and seated himself in one of the many ornate chairs. Ashelia remained standing. Thoughts raced through her head: did he expect her to undress now? Ready herself for him? Or – was she supposed to wait for his command? With shaking hands, she pulled at the laces of her dress, then—

“Stop.”

Ashelia lowered her hands, but she couldn’t bear to face him, to look him in the eye.

“There will be no need for that,” he said. “Not tonight, nor any night to come.”

“I… do not understand, your Grace. We are now married, and I am yours—”

“By word and law only. I will not consummate this marriage.”

“But—I am to bear your children! I am to be your wife a-and queen! That is my duty from this day forth!”

The king reached for his wine, then paused and drew his hand away. He stood and turned away, then began to undo the clasps of his coat. Ashelia felt heat come to her cheeks, and she quickly averted her eyes.

“No, I need you to look at me.”

She did as her king commanded, however…

Her king had removed his coat, but there was cloth tightly wrapped around his chest. There was a distinct curve beneath the cloth, two full breasts constricted by the bindings. Ashelia turned away, unable to hide the flush of her face.

 _A woman._ Her king was no man. _How could have I not realized?_ All this time she had marveled at the king’s beauty, but never did she think that it was a _woman_ ’s beauty she had admired. It never crossed her mind at all…

“Ashelia.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I…” Words had escaped her. “I do not understand.”

“My father sired no sons. I was his only child, his only heir. ‘This girl,’ he said, ‘shall be a better ruler than any man.’” The king went to the bed and draped a blanket around his – _her_ – shoulders. “Despite those words, he decided that I should live as a man, and so from birth I lived as a boy, a prince… and now a king. My true self is a secret kept from my entire kingdom… Only those closest to me know who I am.”

“But…”

“And now you, too, know my secret. I knew I could not hide it from you once we were married, and so I…” The king smiled faintly. “I had to gather enough courage to tell you.”

Ashelia touched her chest. “All this time, you’ve been pretending to be a man…”

“To ensure that this kingdom remains in my family’s care. Had I revealed my identity and eventually married another prince, Valhalla would be under his rule, not mine. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“But how can you live like this? You’re living a lie!”

“It’s what I was born to do. If it is my fate to live as a man, then I won’t fight against it.” The king met her eyes, still smiling as if nothing was wrong. “But I’m not alone anymore. I have you by my side, don’t I?”

Ashelia looked down. “Your Grace—”

“My name is Claire,” the king said. “When we are alone, I’d like you to call me that. Although I’ve chosen to live like this, that doesn’t mean I can’t be myself every now and then. I won’t have to pretend when I’m with you.”

“I would be honored, of course, your Gr—Claire,” Ashelia answered. “I am very… very glad to know I have your trust. As your wife and queen, I shall never tell anyone what you’ve shared with me.”

“There are others who know. My closest friends and allies know, and that includes your guard. If I couldn’t trust them with my own secrets, how could I trust them to protect you?” Claire motioned for Ashelia to sit beside her, and she did as told. “Ser Ballad urged me to tell you before our wedding night, but I was so afraid you might—”

“Shame you? How could I?” Ashelia reached for Claire’s hand and firmly grasped it. “Now that I understand why you hid this from me, I could never resent you. You and I are alike.”

“We are?”

“I had many brothers, but death spirited them away far too soon. I am his only living heir, and though I cannot rule Dalmasca alone, he has placed his trust in me to continue his legacy. To protect the city he loves so dearly,” she said. “Someday we will rule our kingdoms together.”

Claire averted her eyes, turning her gaze to the balcony. The moon and stars were especially bright that night, and the cheers of their people had begun to quiet down.

“Then you also understand that this marriage,” Claire said softly, “is nothing more than an alliance between our kingdoms.”

Of course those words hurt her; Ashelia had wondered if she could have grown to love her king. She wanted to love the man who showed her nothing but kindness and respect since she arrived, but perhaps she could have loved this woman who now trusted her with her life. Yes, perhaps – perhaps it could have been something more, but even she understood that this was going to be a loveless marriage.

“I can’t fault you for that, either,” Ashelia said. “Yet we can still support one another as a man and wife should.”

Claire looked at her, seemingly at a loss for words. Then she laughed lightly and cupped Ashelia’s cheek, smiling despite the obvious sadness in her eyes. Guilt and regret.

“Ashelia,” she said. “You are far too good for me. You have so much kindness and love to give, and I am so undeserving.”

“Such is the queen’s duty—to love her king even when he cannot love himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops I meant to post this sooner but 1) I bought ffxiv and got super addicted, 2) my beta was very busy and I didn't want to pester her about this, and 3) I'm heading back to college for a quarter. I won't make any promises for next chapter buuut we'll see.
> 
> this flashback arc should be called "Unrequited Feelings for Everyone" (also don't worry - we'll see how things ended up w/ serah and the crew by chapter 12).


	10. Days gone by

“ _Serah!_ ”

The Servant—no longer a Berserker—called out for Serah and shook her, but she didn’t move. She didn’t even stir.  Serah was limp in his arms, pale as death. If it weren’t for their bond, with Serah’s mana running through her veins, Ashelia may have believed she was already dead. _What have you done?_

Ignoring Balthier’s protests, she summoned her bow and raised it towards the new Servant.

“Unhand my Master,” she ordered.

He looked up at her—with _blue_ eyes. No longer red. No longer a monster. Still, she tightened her grip and straightened her posture.

“Unhand her!”

“Wait, I’m not…” He shook his head. “I’m not going to hurt her, or you, or anyone else. But we need to get her some help, or—”

She released one arrow, missing him by an inch.

“You’re no longer Berserker,” Ashelia said, “but that doesn’t mean you’re no longer my enemy. Let my Master go, and I will consider sparing your life tonight.”

He obeyed that time, though Ashelia could almost feel his frustration and guilt like they were nothing more than echoes of her own feelings. She pushed those thoughts aside as she knelt beside Serah and carefully examined her. She touched Serah’s forehead and whispered a small healing spell, but she didn’t sense any physical injuries, nor was there any damage done to her mind. It was as if she were only sleeping after a long day’s work. _She is alive_ , Ashelia thought with relief. _However—_

Her gaze trailed down to Serah’s arm, and Ashelia gasped.

Serah’s Command Seal had changed. No, it had _transformed_. No longer was it bright and vibrantly red—instead, it looked like black tendrils wrapped around her fingers, wrist and arm. _Like veins… The Command Seal embedded itself in her_ blood.

Ashelia reached for her, but Balthier snatched her by the arm and pulled her back.

“The corruption,” he said. “Touch it, and you’d likely end up like Berserker.”

“My magic should have protected her,” Ashelia retorted.

“You couldn’t protect her when she willingly accepted it into her own body. Mages are stubborn like that, and Serah especially so.” Balthier almost laughed. “She always was a stubborn little girl…”

 _Yet that stubbornness may have cost her her life. And for what?_ Ashelia finally turned her attention back to the other Servant, but he only had eyes for Serah.

“You there,” Ashelia said. “Your name is Snow, correct?”

He only nodded.

“You were once an ally to my Master.” _No, you loved her, and she loved you._ “I may have no reason to trust you yet, but if she risked her life for yours… then I must give you at least one chance to prove yourself.”

“Anything,” Snow breathed. “I’ll do anything—”

She could hear the desperation in his voice and see the agony etched on his face. Ashelia, however, cared little about Snow’s feelings right now, no matter how much his pain seemed to mirror her own. A reaction to his summoning, she assumed. They were linked; they shared a bond nearly as deep as one between Master and Servant.

The thought hardly comforted her.

“You will follow my lead and remain at my side until I say so. We’ll survey the area while Assassin takes Serah home.” Ashelia briefly met Balthier’s gaze and nodded. “We will discuss our situation once I am certain she’s safe.”

Balthier easily lifted Serah from the ground and vanished into the night like a ghost, leaving Ashelia alone with her new—companion? She pursed her lips as she thought. Snow was Serah’s new Servant, and whether Ashelia approved, she still had to accept it.

Now that Serah was gone, Ashelia had time to collect her thoughts. She watched Snow as he stood and looked around, brows furrowed and nose wrinkled. He was taller than she expected; as Berserker, he had been hunched over like a feral animal, but now he towered over her. His clothing—they were quite modern, though his trench coat had seen better days. Not that he seemed to mind, of course. He didn’t appear to care about anything else except for Serah’s safety at the moment.

 _Good_ , Ashelia thought. _He and I can agree on one thing, at the very least._

“Come,” she said. “Serah is in capable hands. I may not agree with Assassin’s methods, but he is loyal and… trustworthy.”

He followed her wordlessly through the city. So far, Ashelia couldn’t sense any other Servants or other traces of magic. Surely the others felt when Serah saved Berserker—whatever sort of magic she used, it was nothing like Ashelia had seen before. _The others—_

Would they need to alert the overseer of Serah’s new Servant? Ashelia hadn’t met the man herself, but Serah often claimed Hope Estheim was a respectable, sympathetic man, if not “slightly biased” for his previous allies. He knew this war better than most Servants. If he could be trusted, perhaps he’d know what ailed Serah…

Nevertheless, it would have to wait for now.

 

* * *

 

They were all tense and on edge when they returned to Serah’s apartment. Balthier stood next to her, watching over her shoulder as she examined Serah again and looked for an abnormalities. Snow was—somewhere. Sulking. Ashelia could feel his presence close by, and she understood that he felt far too guilty to face any of them right now. She imagined the thoughts racing through his mind: _I did this. This is all my fault. I did this._

Part of her did hold him responsible for Serah’s condition, but in the end it was her Master who held all the blame. Still—she resented Snow for doing nothing but wallowing in his guilt. If this was to be her first impression of him, she had little hope for his usefulness in the days to come.

“How is she?” Balthier asked.

Ashelia shook her head. “Her mind remains whole, and her body is undamaged. This corruption from Berserker’s magic, however… That is my main concern.”

“If we don’t understand it, there’s little we can do for her.”

“We could seek an audience with the overseer and inform him of the new Servant.” Ashelia sat back, hands resting in her lap. Serah slept peacefully in her own bed, with her cat cuddled up next to her. “That… is allowed, is it not? For Servants to speak with him?”

Balthier shrugged nonchalantly. “As far as I know, yes, although Serah made it rather clear she wanted nothing to do with him. Not after he offered to help her win the war.”

“Then at least send a message to him, and… Inquire about the girl’s condition. Penelo was her name, I believe,” Ashelia said. “Whatever magic took hold of her now has Serah in its grip. She may have the answers we seek.”

“As the lady commands.”

However, Balthier didn’t leave. Ashelia looked up at him and frowned.

“Well?” she asked. “What is it?”

He glanced toward the other room, then back to her. “You do realize I’d be leaving you alone with him.”

“And?”

Balthier crossed his arms and looked the other way. _Ah—he’s concerned for my well-being._ Without Serah there to give commands, Ashelia was the closest thing they had to a leader. If Snow turned against her and, as unlikely as it was, _defeated_ her—Balthier would have nowhere else to go.

“You don’t trust him,” she said.

“Oh, it’s not him I don’t trust. It’s you. When he was Berserker, you were more than willing to cut him down.”

“As were you.” Her gaze drifted towards the dagger on his belt. _Deathbringer_ , he called it. His Noble Phantasm—the very blade he used to kill nearly all his victims as the Faceless King. “You dealt the killing blow. If anything, I ought to be concerned about leaving the two of you alone.”

“I had no choice but to act. Don’t you remember, Archer?” With a wave of his hand, he drew the dagger and held it out to her. “You said, ‘Should it come to it, use all your power and strike Berserker down.’ Impressive plan, really. You even managed to keep it from Serah.”

Ashelia bit her lip. “And what good did it do? Despite everything, she still risked her life for him.”

“What’s done is done.” Balthier sheathed the dagger and lifted his hood over his face. “I’ll send a message to the overseer, but I’ll need something from you in return.”

“Compensation, is that what you want?” she asked, scoffing. “If it’s mana you require—”

His grin seemed more wicked now that she couldn’t see his eyes, and it sent chills down her spine. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t ask _that_ of you. All I require is your word. Swear you’ll be a good girl and spare Snow’s life. For Serah’s sake, of course.”

_Spare his life… I am no executioner._

“You forget, Assassin, that I cannot lay a hand on him because of a Command Spell. He may no longer be Berserker, but that command still stands.” A smile snuck across her lips, but it wasn’t from happiness. “Even if I desired such, I wouldn’t be able to hurt him.”

“Just making sure where your intentions lie, nothing more.”

Ashelia turned away from him and closed her eyes. “If that is all you needed, you may go.”

Balthier lingered for a little while longer, and for a moment Ashelia could have sworn he touched her shoulder—to offer comfort, she suspected. But she was still uneasy and unsure, and whatever comfort he tried to give her, it was an admirable, but hopeless effort.

“ _If you need me—_ ”

Ashelia’s fingers curled around her skirt. “Go, Balthier.”

She stared at the wall until she could no longer feel his presence, then stood suddenly and marched into the kitchen, where she found Snow leaning against the countertop, head low. Ashelia hesitated briefly, contemplating the best way to approach him. _I know little of him, aside from what Serah’s told me…_

Ashelia settled for the first question that came to mind.

“Do you remember anything?”

Snow didn’t look in her direction, but he at least had the decency to answer. “Not much. It’s… foggy. I don’t think I was really “there”… Not completely, I guess.”

“As I expected. I suppose it would be uncommon for a Berserker to be even the slightest bit sane…” She touched her chin as she thought. “But aside from that, are you… all right?”

“Seems like it,” he said with a quiet laugh. “I feel stronger. It’s different this time around, but I guess being summoned by a real mage will do that to you.”

The mere thought of Serah seemed to push him even further into his sorrow, as he quickly fell silent. _We won’t accomplish anything at this rate_ , Ashelia thought. _I cannot let him wallow in self-pity for much longer—nor can I force him to fight like this._

“There is no need to worry,” she said. “My— _our_ Master is all right. She merely needs rest.”

“Our Master, huh,” Snow repeated, then lifted his head to look at the ceiling. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

He gestured between them, a half-hearted wave of his hand. “This. Whatever this is. You’re an Archer, right? One of the strongest Servants, just like Saber and Lancer.” Snow huffed and crossed his arms. “I can feel it. Your… power, or whatever you want to call it.”

Cautiously, she took another step towards him. “We share a Master now, whether we like it or not.”

“What’s there to like about it? Serah—” He breathed in sharply. “She’s like _that_ because of me. I know it was her decision, to… to _save_ me, but—”

“No matter the risks, she couldn’t bear to see you suffer.” Ashelia closed her eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And that includes what you’re doing now. You’re punishing yourself for something out of your control, and I doubt Serah would want to see you like this.”

Snow finally looked at her. “So what, then?”

“I don’t know. All we can do is wait for her to wake up, but until then—you and I must work together.”

“You, me, and Balthier, you mean.”

 _Ah—yes. Him_.

“Didn’t expect to see him again,” Snow continued. He wandered over to the living room and plopped onto the couch, resting his feet on the table. “We fought together in the last war—us and Saber. Didn’t exactly get along, though.”

“I’m aware.” She considered joining him, but the sudden change in his demeanor stopped her from moving any closer. One minute he was blaming himself for Serah’s condition, and the next he was reminiscing about days gone by. It was—startling. In the blink of an eye, Snow was able to set aside his guilt and move on. If that was how he chose to cope with his emotions, she supposed she’d have to let him be. For now, at the very least.

“I have several questions I wish to ask,” Ashelia began, sitting beside him on the couch. “If I am to fight at your side—”

“You wanna know everything you can, I get it,” Snow interrupted, rolling his eyes. “I figured you had a lot on your mind with the way you’ve been looking at me.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Your face gets all scrunched up when you’re thinking too hard.”

She sighed, but straightened her posture, holding her shoulders back. “First—what Servant are you? You are no longer Berserker, but as far as I know all the other classes are taken.”

“I’m Rider again. Same as last time.” Snow scratched at his chin. “Are far as _I_ know, there never was a Rider before Serah saved me. The Grail assigned me this class because it was the only one left, simple as that.”

Ashelia gaped. “There is… there is nothing simple about that! Our battle began as soon as all the Servants had been summoned. There _must_ have been another Rider at some point, but one of the others already defeated him.”

_Perhaps Lancer—he was hunting other Servants and their Masters… or perhaps Assassin came across Rider before returning to Serah? Perhaps…_

“Yeah, well, maybe things are different this time around,” Snow said, and left it at that.

Was he always so laid-back? Did he not realize how _wrong_ this was? Not only had Serah achieved the impossible and acquired a second Servant, but now classes were _missing_ from the war? No, surely there was more to it.

However—

“Very well,” she said. “And your true name?”

Snow snorted. “You already know that.”

“I need to hear it from you.”

“Right… Okay then. Snow Villiers. I’m not some legendary knight that slayed a dragon or rescued a princess. I’m just a guy that did the right thing and got killed because of it.”

“But the Grail deemed you worthy enough to be a Heroic Spirit. It doesn’t choose just anyone.” Ashelia frowned. “Why would it choose you?”

“What, Serah never mentioned it? She’s the reason I’m here in the first place.” Snow smiled fondly, but she could see the sadness in his eyes. “Compared to you, I’m still new to this Heroic Spirit business.”

 _Then that means…_ “You knew her while you were alive?”

“Yeah. When Serah was just a little girl, I saved her from being hit by a car. She was crossing the street with her parents, but she tripped and couldn’t get up in time. I’d been working in the café nearby, and I saw her fall… I saw the car coming right at her.”

“And then…?”

“I jumped in front of it. Pushed her out of the way. Got hit instead. I remember…” He rubbed his forehead, hand covering his eyes. “I remember hearing her parents yelling her name, but Serah was holding onto my hand and crying. ‘Please, please, don’t die’. Over and over. I saved her life and lost mine, but… That didn’t really matter to me as long as she was alive.”

“But you didn’t know who she was at the time. She was just a child.”

“That’s it, though. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t dive into danger to save an innocent kid,” Snow said, shrugging. “Anyway, that’s my story. Not as complicated as yours, I’m sure.”

No, it wasn’t. Ashelia couldn’t believe that the Holy Grail would think a fool like Snow Villiers was worthy enough to be a Heroic Spirit. All he had done in his life was save a _child_. There were so many others that deserved the title, heroes from all points in history, and yet there he was: a fool that got himself killed saving a little girl.

The Grail worked in mysterious ways, she supposed.

“That all you wanted to know?” Snow asked.

“No, there is one other thing. Your wish for the Grail—what is it?”

Her question took him off guard; she noticed the way he sat up a bit and looked her in the eyes, almost like he didn’t believe the words had passed her lips. Ashelia knew how to pretend, to put up a mask so no one could see her true self, and just from these few moments of speaking with him, she knew Snow was a master at it as well. But of course, even the greatest of experts slip from time to time.

“My wish? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Everything. Serah told me her wish for the Grail, and though I cannot say our goals are the same, I can at least respect her for being honest with me. Now I ask of the same of you.”

“Well, if I’m being honest, then… I already got my wish. A chance to be with Serah again.”

“That’s… it?”

“Yeah. In the last war all I wanted was to stay by her side and help her win. I wanted to give her the happiness she deserved, and now I’ve got another chance. That’s all I want.”

_He’s just as I suspected—foolishly selfless._

“Most would ask the Grail to live again, and given your situation, I thought that might be your wish,” she said. “Forgive me. I misjudged you.”

Snow rubbed the back of his neck and sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. “Look, you and I both know what happens once the war’s over,” he said. “Without the Grail, Heroic Spirits have no reason to stay in this world. Once this is over, we don’t get to stay—even if we want to. I don’t even think the Grail can make that possible.”

Anyone would wish to live again, but this war _was_ their second chance at life. For Servants like Snow, for Heroic Spirits still attached to their summoners, this was as good as it would get.

Although, it was a relief to know Snow wasn’t as delusional as she assumed. He, at least, was aware of how little time he had left in this world.

“So,” Snow said, “it’s my turn to interrogate you.”

“Interrogate? This was no interrogation,” she replied, taken aback. “But you are right… Go on, then. I will answer as best I can.”

“Same questions. Well—I know you’re Archer, and…” Snow leaned forward and gave her a once-over, nodding to himself. “You’re definitely not from this generation.”

“An astute observation.”

He didn’t appear to catch her sarcasm, or he at least kept his disappointment to himself. “So, who were you?”

“In life, I was Ashelia B’nargin, queen of Dalmasca.”

—and much like Serah, the name “Ashelia of Dalmasca” meant nothing to him. Snow stared at her expectantly and waited, though she was grateful he kept his mouth shut.

“You fought alongside my king in the previous war,” she added. “She was a Saber class Servant.”

His face lit up. “Wait— _Lightning_?”

“I… beg your pardon?”

“You were married to _Lightning_? I knew she was a king, or at least some kind of royalty… But I didn’t think she was _married_ …”

Ashelia sighed. She supposed she’d have to get used to this sort of reaction from people when it came to her relationship with Claire. In all the stories, King Farron was a man, hailed for his victories in battle and the sacrifices he made for his kingdom, while Ashelia herself was no more than a supporting character that had little to no impact in the end. _But I was so much more than that—I was a queen. I was Dalmasca’s protector._

“It would seem she never spoke of me,” Ashelia said quietly. “Serah only knew who I was from the legends… What little of my story she read, that is. But no matter. I have given you my true name, and if that is all—”

“How’d you die?”

Ashelia’s heart started to race. It had been night, and there was a fire, and screaming— _how did you die?_ It was quick, and there was no pain— _how did you die?_ It was her choice—

“Hey—Archer? Archer!”

Snow’s hand was on her shoulder, the only thing keeping her upright. Ashelia touched her face, only to find something wet dripping down her cheek. “I—I am sorry,” she whispered. “It’s… it’s not something I wish to discuss just yet.”

“I shouldn’t have asked,” he said, letting go of her. “Pretty stupid of me, actually. Not everyone can talk about their own death and be okay about it.”

“No, I suppose not… But what’s done is done. There is no changing the past.”

Ashelia wrapped her arms around herself and shut her eyes. _What’s done is done._ Balthier had said so before he left, but she didn’t think much of it until now. What good would it do to dwell on the mistakes of the past? Ashelia wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Snow,” she said. “You and I want the same thing: for Serah to survive this war. She shares my king’s blood, and she was once someone you loved. We both want her to survive, do we not?”

“That’s all I want for her.”

“Very well, then—Rider, from this day until our last, we shall fight side by side.”

Ashelia held out her hand and prayed Snow wouldn’t notice her trembling fingers, but he kept his eyes on her face as he took her hand in a firm grip.

“Snow,” he said with a grin. “You can at least call me that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the award for Most Indecisive Writer goes to... me! I ended up splitting the flashback arc and saving those chapters for a later date, so we went back to the present day arc sooner than I expected! I guess it's a good thing--that cliffhanger was a little too cruel.
> 
> I'm gonna try to push myself harder when it comes to this fic, but I am starting a new project at the end of the month. A rewrite of a... very old series; you'll know what it is if you've read my older stuff on ffnet.


	11. Each choice and each step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I meant to have this chapter up sooner, but my other fic kinda took over my brain for a while.)

That night, Ashelia sat vigil at Serah’s bedside. It was all she could do: wait for her Master to wake up, and wait for Balthier to return. Wait, wait, wait. It was no wonder that Snow left to patrol the area and stand watch; even Ashelia was wishing she could get away for at least a few hours. Getting “stir-crazy”, Snow had said.

She didn’t truly know what to think of her new companion. He _seemed_ trustworthy—and loyal, at least to Serah, but not in the same way as Balthier was to her. Ashelia knew right away that Snow loved Serah more than anything, and everything he’d told her only confirmed it.

_Loyalty born from love_. She immediately thought of Basch, her dearest friend, but those thoughts turned sour as she recalled Saber’s words. _If he truly was the one who killed you—you will be avenged, my friend. I swear it._

Perhaps that was why she felt Snow was worthy of her respect. In a way, he was just like Basch. He was devoted to the woman he loved, and he would lay down his own life for her. However—sacrificing your own life for the one you loved wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Even now, she was disappointed that Basch gave his life for her.

_You should have lived a long, happy life. I was not worth it in the end._

Ashelia wondered if Serah felt the same about Snow, and if she resented him for saving her when she was a child.

“It is no honor… to see someone you love make such great sacrifices in your name,” she murmured, even though Serah couldn’t hear her. “You and I bear the same burden, it seems.”

She sighed softly and looked out the window. Snow remained close by, never straying too far from the building. Briefly she considered calling out to him through their bond, but he needed time alone. Time to reflect. Time to think. It was better to give him space and wait until he was ready to speak again, and until then Ashelia had nothing to do but guard their Master.

Still, she wanted to do more than wait. Snow was keeping watch, while Balthier went to speak with the overseer regarding Serah’s condition. In fact—he’d been gone for quite some time. Far too long.

“Rider,” Ashelia said. “Is Assassin with you?”

After a moment, she felt the familiar thrum of Snow’s presence draw near. “ _No, I haven’t seen him since we brought Serah home. Where’d he run off to, anyway?_ ”

“To the Church. He should have returned by now…”

Snow materialized at her side almost instantly. “Want me to look for him?”

His eagerness to help surprised her, though she knew it would be a waste of his time. Balthier had the tendency to do as he pleased, given that unlike she and Snow, he hadn’t made an official contract with Serah.

“Seriously,” Snow said again. “If you’re that worried about him—”

“I am not _worried_.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right. You know you can’t hide anything from me. Our bond? It’s not that different from what we’ve got with Serah. Whatever you feel, I feel, and vice versa.”

Ashelia sighed deeply. “I did not need reminding.”

“Just making sure you know.”

If this was his attempt at making her feel better, he wasn’t doing a very good job. She couldn’t shake this anxious feeling, that something just wasn’t _right_ , and she knew if she spent another moment in this room, she’d go mad.

“Stay with Serah,” Ashelia said. “I need a moment alone.”

 

* * *

 

Despite their home being under the constant threat of disaster, the people of Eden went about their lives as if nothing was wrong. Although they didn’t know about the Holy Grail War, surely they could have sensed that something wasn’t right in their city. After the fire ten years ago, one would think they’d be worried about it happening again.

Ashelia felt at peace where she now stood, overlooking the city from one of the highest towers. For a few hours she could enjoy the feeling of the wind on her face and the sun warming up her skin. It was times like this when she remembered Dalmasca and the days she’d spend on the balcony, watching over her people on the streets. For a moment, she thought she was back home.

—Wait.

She whipped around as her throat clenched. “Reveal yourself,” she said.

“ _So you_ could _sense me_.”

Lancer materialized beside her, casually sitting against the railing. The first thing she noticed was that he was unarmed, but she wasn’t going to let her guard down. She hardly knew anything about his skills and fighting technique, aside from his desire to hunt and kill mages—specifically Masters.

“What do you want?” Ashelia asked.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to fight,” he replied. “I just want to talk, that’s all.”

“How did you find me?”

He grinned and stood up, dusting off his hands. “I was walking downtown when I saw you standing up here. If you’re trying to hide, you’re not doing a very good job.”

“I was observing the city, not hiding. I didn’t expect to be ambushed today.”

“I’m not ambushing you. Like I said, I want to talk. Is that alright with you, your Majesty?”

Ashelia glared at him. Even if he had friendly intentions, she couldn’t stay long. If Lancer was able to surprise _her_ , then he, or anyone for that matter, could have easily gotten into Serah’s apartment and killed her and Snow.

“Very well,” she said. “What is it you wanted to discuss?”

“I heard your Master summoned another Servant. I didn’t think she was that great of a mage, but I guess she’s tougher than she looks.” Lancer hopped onto the railing and swung his legs like a gleeful child. “So she summons a brand new Servant, and you’re stuck doing guard duty?”

“She did not _summon_ a new Servant,” Ashelia retorted. “She was able to pull Berserker from his madness and return him to his true self.”

“But they made a contract.”

“Yes, they did. How did you learn this?”

Lancer shrugged. “When a big gust of magic hits you out of the blue, you get curious. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one that felt it when she “saved” Berserker.”

“I see… So you’ve come to learn all the dirty details from a grieving Servant who’s afraid she’s lost her Master?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’ve come to warn you.”

“Warn me? I have nothing to fear. Her new Servant and I have agreed to work together despite our differences.”

He shook his head again. _No, then?_

“What your Master did… it’s not normal. Even the strongest mage shouldn’t be able to _change_ Servants like that. When you’re given a class by the Grail, that’s the class you’re stuck with until you’re killed. I don’t even believe the Grail can do that.”

“Berserker was near death when Serah saved him.” Ashelia paused. “No… He was surely gone by the time her magic reached him. But she was able to bring him back nonetheless.”

“See? Mages can’t _do that_. Once a Servant dies, they go back to the Grail. They go back to the Throne of Heroes.”

Ashelia herself had doubts—Serah was an exceptional mage, but Lancer was right. No mage could pull a Servant back from the Grail when it was their time to return.

“Lancer, what I am about to tell you cannot be used against me in any way. You will keep this from your own Master.”

“I promise—I’m not here on orders or to spy on you. This is between us.”

_If you break that promise, you will not live to tell another lie_.

She inhaled deeply and rested her back against the wall. Her shoulder was barely touching Lancer’s leg. “My Master, Serah… I am not sure _what_ she did that night. We managed to distract Berserker long enough for Assassin to deliver the killing blow… but she couldn’t bear to see the man she loved suffer,” Ashelia explained. “Before I could stop her, she made a contract with him and brought him back as a new Servant. The Rider class.”

He nodded slowly. “Rider… As far as I know, there never was a Rider when the war started.”

“Yes, there were only six of us when the war began. Berserker was defeated, and yet he rose again as Rider. There are still only six of us…” Ashelia crossed her arms. “When Serah saved him, she took away the magic that drove him mad. She took that magic into her own _body_. Since then, she remains unconscious. It’s been over a day…”

Lancer leaned forward to look at her. “So you’re saying whatever made Berserker go crazy… is now inside your Master.”

“Yes. I don’t know whether she’ll wake up, or if that magic is what’s keeping her asleep. What I do now is that it changed her Command Seal.” Ashelia raised her own arm and held it out. “She has more spells on her arm than she needs, twisting all around like blood veins.”

Worry flashed in his eyes. “Do you feel any different? Any pain?”

“I feel perfectly fine. I’ve limited the amount of mana I share with her, but nothing has changed. Whatever that magic was, I haven’t been affected by it.”

A sigh escaped his lips. “So you’re unaffected by the corruption… I’m glad to hear it.”

“Corruption?” Ashelia asked, turning to face him. “Lancer, did you know about this?”

“All I know is that something went wrong when your friend was summoned as Berserker. It wasn’t his Master or any other mage that did it to him. It was… something else.”

_He knows no more than I do_. Ashelia began to pace, unable to mask her confusion. “You speak of this “something” as if it has a mind of its own. If it’s not a mage, then—another Servant?”

“When I first met the two of you, I wasn’t just hunting mages that night. I was looking for someone specific. Someone that’s going to change this war and put everyone at risk.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I said, I don’t know who it is, but someone has taken matters into their own hands and manipulated how this war works. I’ve been trying to contact every Master, every Servant… but so far, I haven’t found who I’m looking for.”

So all that talk of saving the enslaved Heroic Spirits and killing mages was no more than a ruse to fool her into a fight. _How could I have been so blind?_

“We need to put a stop to it before they can spread the corruption,” he continued. “Berserker wasn’t the only one that was affected by it. In fact, you’re the first Servant I’ve met that hadn’t come into contact with it.”

Her thoughts drifted back to Saber. Basch’s own brother, summoned to this war for a single purpose: to fight _her_. When they fought, she hadn’t noticed anything necessarily off about him, not like she had with Berserker. If he had been touched by this corruption, he hid it well. _Was that the reason for his actions? Was that why he wanted me to kill him?_

“And how many of us have you fought?”

“Nearly everyone. Assassin and Caster have eluded me so far, but I’ll find them.”

_Assassin… He’s only made contact with us, it seems._ Ashelia looked down. _He killed his own Master so he could be with Serah again._

Lancer was watching her again, like he expected her to speak up and share exactly what was on her mind. But—she couldn’t trust him yet. If Balthier wanted to remain hidden from other Servants, he had his reasons, and it was not her place to reveal anything.

“But what about you?” she asked. “Has this strange magic changed you at all?”

“No, I’m immune to it—like you.”

“So that means myself, you, and Rider are untouched… But Saber, Caster, and Assassin—” Her heart dropped. “What can we do, Lancer?”

“You need to sever your ties with your Master. If you’re not careful, whatever magic she absorbed will find its way to you sooner or later.”

Ashelia shook her head. “That I cannot do.”

He reacted as expected: wide eyed and horrified. “ _What_? You can’t be serious, Archer! After everything I’ve told you—”

“I made a promise that I would win the Grail for her, and I do not intend to break it to ensure my own survival,” she said. “Not only that, but it is my duty to protect her. My king’s blood runs through her veins. Serah is her legacy, and I… I will not fail again.”

Lancer looked the other way, lips pulled back into a snarl. “You don’t get it, do you? If you keep fighting a losing battle… you won’t just fail your Master or your dead king! You’ll fail _yourself_!”

“Then I will do what I can to protect myself, but I will not leave Serah’s side. I was summoned as her Servant for a reason… It was no coincidence. This is my only chance to make things right again.”

He fell silent, but Ashelia saw how much her words had pained him. Even if it was a lie, all his talk of protecting Heroic Spirits, Lancer had a good heart and truly didn’t want to see her suffer. She could see it in his eyes: the look of someone who had lost so much already. It was a look she saw in her own eyes every time she looked in a mirror.

“Lancer,” she said, stepping towards him. “I thank you for your concern, and I wish I could repay it in turn, but…”

“You don’t need to worry about me getting in your way. I’m not after the Grail.”

“That may be, but I—” What could she say to him? “I am not throwing my life away. So long as I fight for what I believe in… All is not lost.”

Shoulders slumped, Lancer jumped down from the railing and laughed quietly. “All is not lost,” he repeated. “I guess I was wrong about you, Archer. When we first met, I thought the Grail meant everything to you.”

“My wish for the Grail is no more than a selfish dream. A _dream_. It can never be anything more than that, and so I had to find something else to fight for.” Ashelia smiled. “I may not agree with her most of the time, but I am glad Serah summoned me. She may be headstrong, and sometimes even a bit foolish… But so am I.”

“Then I hope she stays alive—for your sake.”

Lancer brushed past her, and Ashelia turned to face him again.

“Wait—I would ask one more thing of you, Lancer. If you are not here for the Grail, then what is it you fight for?”

He looked over his shoulder and flashed a sad smile. “Something I believe in.”

 

* * *

 

After Lancer left, her first thought was that she needed to tell Snow everything. Serah’s condition affected him just as much as it affected her, which meant—if they weren’t careful—the corruption could change him again. _A Berserk-Rider_ , she wondered. _Is that even possible?_ If Lancer was right about the war’s rules being different this time, anything was possible.

They’d have to be on their guard.

As she made her way to the door, she heard a voice. It was distant at first, then it grew closer by the second. Ashelia turned her head and waited as a familiar presence overwhelmed her.

_Assassin?_

—And just like that, Balthier found her. He materialized without warning and nearly crashed into her, stumbling down the steps, disheveled and bloody. Before Ashelia could ask what happened, he grabbed her hand.

“The overseer,” he croaked, a wild look in his eyes. “I went to see him, as you asked—”

“Gods, is this _your_ blood?” She touched his face, only to find his skin was cold under her fingers.

“Yes, yes, it’s all mine—but there’s no need to worry about me. Just a… a few scratches, no more.” He shuddered as he tried to catch his breath. “As I said, I went to the Church and sought an audience with the overseer, yet I felt another Servant around. Somehow they found me first.”

As she listened, Ashelia began to heal his wounds. He was right; none of them were deep enough to cause lasting damage, but his lack of magical energy had her worried. If he wasn’t careful, he could work himself to death.

She cupped his cheek again, and he flinched as if her touch burned him.

“A Servant that close to the Church…” she said, then gently urged him to the floor. “Here, sit. It will be quicker if you’re not on your feet.”

“There’s no time to sit and chat!” Balthier retorted. “That Servant—she’s been chasing me all night. I only managed to get away when something else caught her eye.”

Ashelia ran her hands up and down his arms, searching for any other injuries. _Good—but he’s in no condition to go anywhere… Not like this_.

“Lancer was here, not long before you arrived,” she said. “Perhaps he caught this other Servant’s attention. But that’s no matter right now—”

“ _Lancer?_ What did he want?”

“Listen to me, Balthier! You’ve nearly exhausted all your energy, and if you continue acting like a _child_ —” She stopped herself. Yelling at him wouldn’t make this easier. “Yes, Lancer came to warn me, and if you would kindly let me finish, you’ll know why.”

Balthier stared at her, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her lips. “You called me Balthier,” he said quietly.

“Yes?”

“That’s the second time now.”

“What does it matter? Do you want to hear about Lancer or not?”

“Go on, then. I’m listening.”

She explained it as well as she could. With the little information she had, it was a miracle she didn’t sound like a madwoman, though Balthier believed her nonetheless. She continued to heal him as she spoke, and occasionally she caught him watching him with an almost tender expression.

“So you’re saying this war began without a Rider,” Balthier said. “There was a Saber, Archer, Lancer, Caster, Assassin and Berserker… but no Rider until Serah summoned him.”

“Which means there are still only six Servants in this war.”

“Are there? The one tracking me could have been Caster, and yet… No, they didn’t _feel_ like a Caster to me. Far too strong.”

“Who else could it be? Saber? He wouldn’t have wasted his time on you if his only desire is to fight me again.” She considered this for a moment before shaking her head. “But what Lancer said is concerning. Six Servants, and an unseen force corrupting them… Balthier, were you at least able to make contact with the overseer?”

He shook his head.

“Then that is where we’ll go. You will accompany me to the Church, and I shall speak with the overseer myself.” Ashelia stood and offered her hand to Balthier, though he took it with some reluctance. “Rider can protect Serah in my absence.”

Balthier paused, still holding her hand. “You… trust him.”

“We share a Master now.”

“And that’s reason enough?”

His grip had tightened; firm enough that Ashelia winced. “Much like you and I, we understand that Serah’s survival is key to winning this war. Do you disagree?”

“I know you don’t easily place your trust in strangers. Even now you can’t look at me without scowling.” Finally he released her hand and turned away, and Ashelia noticed the way he flexed his fingers and curled them slightly. “No matter. Our time together is short, after all.”

“Balthier—”

“If we’re going back to the Church, we ought to leave soon. I doubt Lancer will keep that other Servant occupied for much longer.”

She couldn’t believe how quickly his demeanor had changed. One moment he looked at her with nothing but tenderness, then the next he acted as if her very presence pained him. Ashelia took a step towards him, and immediately Balthier took a step back. No, this was far too unusual for him to go unnoticed. Something was wrong.

“Balthier,” Ashelia said again, this time more softly. “If you’d prefer to rest for a while longer…”

“No need to worry, Archer.” The sharpness in his voice felt like a stab to the heart, but she pushed the feeling aside. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”


End file.
